


klaine advent 2018 masterpost

by Pterodactyl



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M, klaine advent 2018
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2019-01-03
Packaged: 2019-09-05 20:27:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 24,875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16817872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pterodactyl/pseuds/Pterodactyl
Summary: all the fic for ka 2018! NOW COMPLETE :)





	1. athlete

**Author's Note:**

> welcome to another year of me writing fics entirely unrelated to the actual prompt and only using the word in the loosest sense! enjoy!

Their first married winter in New York, Kurt sprains his ankle trying to hop a puddle outside their apartment.

He’s not an athlete, but the puddle is only about two feet across and his brown oxfords are brand new. Blaine’s just down the street, having kissed him goodbye moments earlier, heading out for a big audition. He’s wearing a pair of green rubber boots, and for half a second Kurt considers turning back and putting on his own pair. But if he does that he’ll be late for work, and he has a meeting first thing, so instead he hops off the last step of their apartment building and across the ankle-deep puddle of sleet and dirty water.

He lands badly, ankle twisting under his own weight and impacting the sidewalk. For half a second Kurt thinks he might actually fall ass-first into the pool behind him, but he manages to catch himself on the wall. He straightens up, checks nobody saw, shakes his leg out and makes his way to work, only limping a tiny bit.

At work he’s fine up until he gets up after the meeting and his leg buckles. He fashions a makeshift ice pack out of an old frozen dinner he left in the staff freezer, props his leg up on a spare chair, and tries to get through the day answering emails and making sketches. It’s only when Isabelle comes in and sees him popping a tylenol and resting a half-defrosted box of lasagna on his foot that he gets kicked out with orders not to return until he can put weight on his foot without crying.

By the time he gets home his ankle has swelled to the size of a softball and is throbbing persistently. It’s not the worst sprain he’s ever had, but it certainly hurts, and he even decides to wait for the ancient elevator instead of taking the three flights of stairs to their apartment. When the doors open on their floor, he forgoes hobbling and just hops the rest of the way, portfolio case in one hand and his keys in the other.

As the door opens he catches the scent of something baking and his stomach growls loudly. Throwing his bag onto the floor, he leans heavily against the wall and start the slow process of removing his shoe from his swollen foot.

“Hey, sweetie!” Blaine’s voice drifts in from the kitchen and Kurt hears his feet shuffle against the wood floor, “You’re home a little earlier than usual, I thought you were in until five today.”

“Isabelle sent me home early,” Kurt calls back, “I, uh, may have injured myself this morning.”

Blaine walks into the corridor, drying his hands on a towel. He’s wearing the novelty apron Santana got him for his birthday, which says “May I suggest the sausage?” with an arrow pointing down, and there’s a smudge of flour just above his right eyebrow.

“Kurt! What happened?” he rushes forwards and kneels in front of him, easing his shoe off and gasping. “Did you sprain your ankle?”

“I tried to hop the puddle outside,” Kurt groans, “In hindsight, it was very stupid.”

“No kidding,” Blaine mumbles, “This is nasty. Here, come on, let’s get you on the couch.”

Slowly, they inch through into the kitchen, Kurt’s arm around Blaine’s shoulders. Their cat is stretched out on the couch, and Blaine ushers her off and helps him down onto the pillows.

“This is why I tried to get you to wear your boots this morning,” Blaine says, lifting Kurt’s ankle onto his lap. “Oh, this is definitely sprained.”

“They didn’t go with my outfit,” Kurt says, tossing his arm over his eyes. “Anyway, I would have been hung, drawn and quartered at Vogue if I showed up in _rubber boots_.”

“But you would have been able to walk.” Blaine’s fingers probe Kurt’s ankle gently, and he hisses involuntarily, curling his fingers into a fist.

“Bad?”

“Pretty miserable,” Kurt grimaces, “I put some ice on it at work but it didn’t seem to work.”

“Oh, you used the ice pack from the first aid kit I got you?”

Kurt had completely forgotten the mini first aid kit in the bottom drawer of his desk. “No, I, uh, I used a frozen meal.”

He hears Blaine snort. “A frozen meal? Oh my god.”

“You can say I’m stupid. I acknowledge it. I accept it.”

“I’ll never call you stupid,” Blaine says softly, getting up from the couch. Kurt feels him brush his fingers gently over his wrist. “I will, however, call you a big dummy.”

“I guess I can accept that.” Kurt hears the freezer door open and shut. “Do we have frozen peas?”

“We have one better!” Blaine’s feet track back towards him. “Quit being dramatic, come on.”

Kurt lets his arm fall to the side and looks up. Blaine’s holding the gel ice pack he bought to pre-chill the bed in the summer. “I knew this thing would come in handy.”

“You’re so smart,” Kurt grins, “I’m so lucky I have a smart husband.”

“You sure are.” Blaine taps the side of his leg. “Lift?”

Kurt obliges, lifting his foot into the air. Blaine piles up a couple of cushions and then gently drapes the ice pack over Kurt’s ankle. “Better?”

“Always when I’m with you.” Kurt bats his eyes. Blaine rolls his. “You’re ridiculous.”

“What are you baking?” Kurt tries to follow Blaine around the room with his gaze, but his husband ducks behind him. “Is it cake? Please say cake.”

“It’s cupcakes for Mrs Paul upstairs, her birthday is tomorrow,” Blaine’s voice gets faint as he goes into the bedroom. Kurt huffs, disappointed. “So none for me?”

“I made one and a half, so there should be a couple left over.” Blaine pokes his head over the back of the couch. “Shift over?”

Obligingly, Kurt shifts his butt to the side, then squawks as Blaine hops over the back and squishes himself into the space between Kurt and the couch. “What are you doing?”

“My cupcakes need to cool, so,” Blaine wiggles until he’s lying with his back to Kurt’s chest and tugs the throw blanket over them, “I got the latest issue of GQ, did you know it has an interview with Hugh Jackman?”

Kurt perks up. “It does?”

“Mm, so I figured we could, you know…”

“Pretend to read it and actually just cuddle?” Kurt fills in, worming his arm between Blaine and the couch so he can tuck his hands under the throw. “How presumptuous of you.”

“Oh hush,” Blaine says, tipping his head back, “You know you want to.”

Kurt almost replies with something snarky, and then Blaine leans his head against his neck and sighs softly. He smells like orange blossom and his hair is unstyled, curling gently over his ears. It never gets less incredible that this man is Kurt’s husband.

Gently, Kurt finds Blaine’s left hand with his under the blanket and twines their fingers together. “You’re right. You know me so well.”

“That’s why you married me,” Blaine says, and opens GQ.


	2. bury

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kurt and blaine plant flowers <3

Blaine pulls up outside the Hummel’s house nearly half an hour after he said he would, cursing every red light he hit and the ancient white lady in her SUV who he’s pretty sure flipped him the bird when he overtook her on the highway. He glances in his rearview mirror, scowling, to make sure he looks acceptable before going in to see his boyfriend.

His hair is acceptable, the zit under his left eyebrow is as concealed as he could get it, and his bowtie is not completely crooked. Muttering furiously under his breath, Blaine grabs the vintage picnic basket he got off eBay and hops out of his car, straightening his polo as he hotfoots it up to the front door and rings the doorbell.

And waits.

And waits.

And rings it again.

And waits some more.

And finally gets too antsy to wait and decides to duck through the backyard to make sure Kurt’s not listening to music in the kitchen and can’t hear him.

He has to stand on tiptoes to undo the gate from the outside, and hopes none of Kurt’s neighbours call the police on him as he slips through, avoiding the piles of weeds scattered across the path. _Carole must be replanting some of the flower beds,_ he thinks as he passes a trowel and gardening fork stuck in the grass.

Reaching the back door, he straightens his polo once more and reaches for the handle -

And then leaps back in shock when the door opens and Kurt emerges, holding a glass of water and wearing a baseball cap.

“ _Oh my god!_ ” Kurt shrieks, “Holy crap, Blaine, what are you doing here?”

“What am I - we have a date?” Blaine checks his watch to make sure he has the right time, and then his phone to make sure he has the right date. “We’re going for a picnic?”

Kurt’s mouth falls open. “That’s today? Oh my god, is it the fourteenth?”

“Yes?” Blaine’s starting to wonder if he made the whole thing up in his head, “I thought we planned this last week?”

“We did, we did, I’m such an idiot,” Kurt shakes his head, “I though we planned it for the fifteenth, I had - I started planting a new flower bed, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Blaine shifts back and forth nervously. “I can - I can go, if you’re busy.”

Kurt’s head snaps up, an incredulous look on his face. “Are you crazy? You drove all the way to see me - and this picnic basket is so _chic_ , oh my god, I love it.”

Blaine preens a little, because he was pretty proud of tracking down a vintage 1950s wicker picnic basket. “I thought you might.”

“And you look so cute,” Kurt hooks his fingers through the loops at the front of Blaine’s cropped pants, “I love this bowtie.”

Blaine flushes. “I thought you might. It matches with the blanket I brought.”

“You’re so -” Kurt goes in to kiss him but smacks Blaine in the face with the brim of his hat.

“Ow,” he says, and Kurt gasps, cupping his jaw. “Oh babe I’m so sorry -”

Blaine immediately forgets the impact and melts a little at the pet name. “It’s okay, I - I mean, if you’re busy, we can just reschedule. I’m free tomorrow as well.”

“No, no, that’s ridiculous,” Kurt shakes his head, “I need to shower and find something to wear and then we can go. I can probably… probably finish the flower bed when I get back.”

Blaine actually looks at his boyfriend, takes in his slightly dirty cut off shorts and tank top that exposes the freckles dotting his shoulders. He’s obviously right in the middle of doing something, and Blaine feels bad interrupting. “I mean, we don’t have to.”

“You drove all the way here, I’m not going to make you turn around again,” Kurt takes his hand and starts leading him inside, “The garden can wait.”

“I could help!” Blaine blurts, and then immediately curses internally. He’s good at keeping houseplants alive, but he has no idea what goes into actually maintaining a garden.

But Kurt’s face has brightened considerably. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t really… know what I’m doing, but I’m sure you could teach me.”

Kurt’s eyes shine with excitement. “Really? That would be - oh, but your clothes, Blaine,” he tugs lightly at Blaine’s bowtie, “I can’t ruin an outfit as cute as this, especially not on a guy as cute as you.”

Blaine’s heart skips a beat in his chest, like it always does when Kurt calls him cute. “Well, could I borrow some clothes?”

Kurt’s eyes flash with a familiar heat, and he reaches down and takes Blaine’s hand. “Of course you can.”

Twenty minutes later, Blaine’s carefully picked outfit is lying on Kurt’s bed and he’s rolling up the legs of Kurt’s ripped jeans so he doesn’t step on the hems. Kurt gave him an old Hummel Tires & Lube t-shirt that’s about three sizes too big that he must sleep in, because it smells like Kurt’s body wash and shampoo even though it’s freshly washed. Blaine ducks his head into it for a moment and closes his eyes, feeling like he’s in Kurt’s arms even though his boyfriend is downstairs unpacking the picnic basket into the fridge so nothing spoils.

When he gets back downstairs he can hear Kurt humming from the garden, so he pushes his feet back into his shoes and joins him outside.

“So what do you want me to do?” he asks, dropping to his knees beside Kurt, “Dig holes? Fill holes? Prune plants?”

Kurt laughs, already digging into the soil. He’s wearing gloves as he carefully pats the earth around a tiny green stem. “You need some gloves, first. Here, take mine.”

“Thank you,” Blaine slips them on and cinches the velcro tight around his wrists as Kurt grabs a second pair from the bench. “And then?”

Kurt plops a floppy straw hat on his head as he sits back down beside him, gesturing over at the potted flowers lined up against the fence. “Right now I’m doing asters, so we’ll finish those. Then I got some sweet peas, some marigolds, and… whatever those are,” he points at the ones at the end. “The lady at the plant nursery just said they would be good to plant now. And then I just have some seeds.”

“And… what do I do?”

Kurt smiles at him, his eyes scrunching up the way they do when he thinks Blaine has done something especially cute or silly. “Just follow my lead.”

“Okay,” Blaine says, and does.

They work in companionable silence for a while, digging holes and gently burying the flower roots in them. Kurt hums as he works, little tunes that start and end nowhere, obviously drawn from his mind. It’s hard work, but it’s fulfilling, and Blaine’s glad he’s there, spending time with Kurt. He goes to New York soon, and Blaine’s trying to savour every moment together, so he has something to look back on while they’re all those miles apart.

“I didn’t know you liked gardening,” he says as they take a break to drink some water, “You never said.”

“You’re gonna think I’m weird.” Kurt tips his head back, giving Blaine a sideways glance. “Promise you won’t judge?”

“Never,” Blaine says, “Never ever.”

Kurt nods and inhales slowly. “My mom used to garden a lot when I was a kid. She used to take me to nurseries and tell me all the plants and when they flowered and when you should plant them. Whenever I miss her or I want to feel close to her, I go out to the nursery and buy something to plant. I’ve just been missing her a lot lately.”

Blaine reaches out for Kurt’s hand, his heart overfull with how much he loves the boy sitting next to him. “Kurt…”

Kurt blinks a couple of times. “You promised not to judge.”

“I’m not judging, I’m not.” Blaine grabs his hand, holding it tight. “I just - I love you.”

Kurt glances over at him and a small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth. “I love you too.”

“I’d like to come next time,” Blaine leans into his side. “If you don’t mind.”

“I’d like that,” Kurt murmurs, “I’d like that a lot.”

They sit in silence for a moment and then Kurt squeezes his hand. “Come on. Let’s finish up and then we can go make out under the air con unit in my room.”

Blaine laughs as Kurt’s eyes sparkle bright blue, and kisses him under the hot afternoon sun anyway.


	3. camera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i feel like not enough attention is given to blaine's vintage camera collection so here i am

Kurt looks out over the ocean, squinting as the bright sun reflects off the water. It’s the sixth day of their nine day vacation, and he feels like at this point he should be sick of sleeping, eating and admiring Blaine in his tiny little red swim shorts. But he’s not, actually - Kurt could quite happily spend the rest of his days eating olives and sunbathing and never consider leaving this little Greek island.

He glances at his husband standing at the end of the dock, taking photos of the white sand beach stretching out behind them. Ever since Blaine got a nice camera for Christmas he’s been focused on rediscovering the love of photography that he had in high school, with the end result of their shared Dropbox account getting steadily filled with landscape shots of New York or photos of dogs that Blaine sees at the park.

Kurt could never complain about that though; Blaine’s creativity shines through in everything that he does, whether it’s dance or photography. And it means that Kurt doesn’t need to pay for professional headshots any more, which is always a bonus.

“Are you hungry?” Kurt calls as a gust of wind threatens to snatch his hat off his head, “You want to get lunch?”

“I’m okay!” Blaine’s voice comes faint as it fights against the wind, “Are you?”

“Sure.” Kurt turns back to the endless blue water and white cliffs dotted with green shrubbery. He’s not starving, but the thought of a gyro from the shop down the road from their villa is making his mouth water.

“Kurt, smile!”

Kurt looks up from dangling his feet in the water to see Blaine’s camera pointed in his direction, his husband crouching awkwardly on the dock in order to get him in frame. Usually he would hide his face or shout or throw his shoe, but he does what Blaine asks - tilts his head to the side and smiles, putting a hand on his head to stop his hat from flying away.

“Beautiful,” Blaine squints down at the camera, “You look like an ethereal beach sprite.”

“Ethereal beach sprite?” Kurt snorts, “Wearing shorts and a tank top?”

“A very _chic_ ethereal beach sprite,” Blaine wobbles across the rickety old pier to sit next to him, “Are you sure you’re not hungry?”

“I could eat,” Kurt says tactfully.

Blaine laughs. “You’re such a bad liar.” He offers Kurt a hand to get up.

“Okay, maybe I am a little hungry.” Kurt stands up carefully so he doesn’t get another huge splinter in his ass like he did the first day of their vacation. “I’m really craving another one of those gyros.”

“Oooh, now you say that I am too,” Blaine rubs his stomach, “With fresh tzatziki, _mmm_.”

“You’re so tanned,” Kurt says miserably as they step down onto the beach, “It never gets any less unfair.”

Blaine grins, his perfectly bronzed skin contrasting with the white of his linen shirt. “Bet you’d tan if you didn’t put on so much sunscreen.”

“You know that’s not true, Anderson.”

“ _Hummel_ , thank you.” Blaine runs a hand through his hair. The salt and stiff wind has left him with Hollywood-worthy curls, and Kurt considers putting off the swim they had planned for the afternoon and just dragging him back to bed.

“Hold on,” Kurt reaches out for the camera, “Let me take one of you.”

Blaine tries to grab it back, but Kurt hops across the sand and lifts it to his eye, grinning. “Smile!”

“Kurt, no!” Blaine’s eyes widen even as he starts to smile, “My hair -”

“Too late!” Kurt takes the photo, and then another one as Blaine starts to laugh in earnest. “Kurt! You didn’t even give me a chance to pose!”

Kurt looks down at the screen and smiles. Even against horizon of dazzling blue and white, Blaine’s smile is the most beautiful thing in the world.

“I bet I look like a crazy person,” Blaine says, coming to peer over his shoulder. Kurt smiles, tilting the screen so he can see it. “More like crazy beautiful.”

Blaine huffs and slips his arm around Kurt’s waist. “Come on. Let’s go get gyros.”

“Then maybe we can try something else gyre-related later,” Kurt murmurs in his ear, and Blaine snorts. “You’re so lucky I love you.”

“And don’t I know it,” Kurt replies, and kisses his cheek.


	4. deputy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this is just an excuse for me to write about dogs,

It’s just past three when Kurt hears a key turn in the front door and his husband’s voice calls out “I’m home!”

“In the kitchen!” Kurt calls back, eyes fixed on his sketchbook as he pushes the crib at his feet back and forth. Blaine’s footsteps echo through the house, winding through the hallway and ending up behind Kurt’s chair.

“Hey, sweetie,” Kurt tips his head back, eyes closed, expecting a kiss. He’s waiting for nearly twenty seconds when Blaine says, “What are you doing?”

Kurt opens his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Blaine’s face - a little flushed from the heat - looks almost disturbed as he stairs just past Kurt’s hands. “Are you okay?”

Kurt follows Blaine’s eyes and bursts out laughing.

“Oh my god, I’m not going crazy,” he laughs, finally stopping the repetitive motion of pushing the plastic crib with his foot, “I know Joy’s not in there.”

“Oh thank god.” Blaine finally leans down to kiss him. “I thought you were getting dad brain again.”

“No, I’m just the deputy in charge of fake baby rocking,” Kurt puts his sketchbook down and glances out of the back door, “The captain’s out there.”

Blaine moves to look out of the window. “What are they doing?”

Kurt tries to hold in his laughter. “Pepper saw a squirrel in the garden, Joy decided to follow her, and now they’re both standing there waiting for it to come down. You missed the part where they were both yelling at it.”

“Oh my god,” Blaine mutters, “How long have they been out there?”

Kurt checks his watch as he gets to his feet, dragging the plastic crib aside. “Fifteen minutes. How were the theatre kids?”

Blaine’s still looking out over the garden, his eyes wistful, and it’s clear he’s not really listening. “She’s been so crazy about that doll lately.”

“You know her teacher is pregnant again?” Kurt wraps his arms around Blaine’s waist, “She’s been telling them what it’s like to have a baby and Joy said today she wants to get one.”

“Get one? Like at the store?” Blaine turns to look at him and Kurt snorts. “She got that one out of the garage and kind of looked at me like I could pull a real baby out too.”

Blaine _awws_ softly, looking out at the garden again. Joy is standing under the ginkgo tree, head craned back and a hand resting on Pepper’s butt as their dog sniffs at the base of the tree. Through the open window Kurt hears her say “Pep, look!” and she points. Pepper’s face, almost completely white with age now, points straight up as she tries to figure out what Joy wants her to look at.

“She said to me last week she wants a sister,” Blaine says, “I don’t think she gets that it’s not so simple for us.”

“Don’t you wish we could just pop out babies for fun?” Kurt smacks his ass gently and moves away to make coffee, “Then she’d be happy.”

“Well, I mean,” Blaine turns, head tilted, “Have you thought about it?”

“About what? Popping out a baby?”

“Well - kind of, about adopting another kid,” Blaine leans up against the counter. “Maybe a baby?”

Kurt pauses in the middle of getting cups from the draining rack. “Are you for real?”

“Yeah, I am,” Blaine tilts his head, “You know I always wanted a big family.”

“I know, but all those conversations we had _before_.” Kurt leaves the whole _cult kidnapping thing_ unspoken.

“Maybe we should talk about it again,” Blaine suggests, dipping in to kiss Kurt’s cheek. “I’ll go fetch the troublemakers, okay?”

“Okay,” Kurt says faintly, watching as Blaine takes his socks off and steps barefoot out into the garden. Joy and Pepper turn simultaneously and Blaine nimbly avoids getting knocked down by both of them, sweeping Joy up into a hug while fending off Pepper’s excited paw swipes.

Kurt gets the milk out of the fridge, mulling Blaine’s proposal over. The pink plastic crib in the corner of the room catches his attention again, and he wonders, maybe, if it’s time to expand their family a little more.

And then Blaine carries Joy into the kitchen as Pepper dances around his feet, eyes sparkling. As soon as her feet touch the floor Joy runs to the crib, gesturing for Blaine to follow. As his husband sits next to their daughter, listening to her talk, he catches Kurt’s eye and smiles.

And Kurt might as well sign the adoption papers right then, because he’ll never be able to say no to Blaine.


	5. exclude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kurt and blaine worry a little.

“Is she down?” Blaine whispers, creeping into the bedroom with the pacifier in hand. Kurt nods, looking exhausted as he gently rocks the moses basket with one hand and pets Pepper’s head with the other.

“Is Joy?” Kurt asks, his voice barely audible, “I thought she might struggle.”

“Out like a light,” Blaine tiptoes past where the newest addition to the family is sleeping. She looks awfully cherubic now her eyes are closed, but the last two hours have been filled with screaming and crying, not just on the part of Maeve. Joy had thrown a tantrum after dinner when Kurt was too busy with the baby to read her a story, and Pepper has gained the habit of howling whenever Maeve begins to wail, which creates a self-perpetuating cycle of the baby and the dog each trying to out-scream each other.

Blaine places the pacifier on his nightstand and checks the room thermometer. It’s a little high, so he starts heading back towards the thermostat - and then his foot hits a creaky floorboard and he freezes, head snapping around to face Kurt.

They stare at each other in panic for fifteen long seconds as Maeve grumbles, sighs and then goes quiet again. The adrenaline coursing through Blaine’s body slows, and he leans against the wall as a wave of exhaustion washes over him.

“That was close,” Kurt says, and then hastily quietens when Blaine hushes him. After turning the AC up a little higher, Blaine shuts the door and gently crosses the floor back to the bed - this time avoiding the piece of floor marked with a glow in the dark sad face sticker. After three nights in a row of Maeve being woken by one of them going to the bathroom and stepping on that floorboard, Kurt had gone around their room marking every board that made a noise with a sticker in the hopes that they’d get a little more sleep.

Kurt shifts over the bed to his side, letting Blaine take over the rocking of the moses basket. Pepper, sprawled across the bottom of the bed, seems to have finally calmed down after being locked in the kitchen for half an hour because she just _would not stop_ singing at the top of her lungs. The house is blissfully silent, bar the sound of Maeve’s soft breathing and Pepper’s huffing.

“It’s my night tonight,” Blaine mumbles, slowly easing the moses basket to a stop. Luckily, Maeve doesn’t stir at all, and he gently eases himself back down onto the bed, “Put your earplugs in.”

“In a moment.” Kurt pulls at his shirt to get his attention. “Is Joy okay?”

“She’s fine,” Blaine rolls onto his side so he can face his husband, “I explained that babies need lots of attention and you don’t love her any less because you have to clean up a poop explosion.”

Kurt chuckles, even as his eyes start to close. “I just don’t want her to feel excluded. I’m so scared…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, but Blaine knows what he means. “I know. It’s okay, Kurt. She knows we love her. And when I said you were cleaning up poop she was really glad you didn’t read her a story.”

“I’ll read her a story tomorrow,” Kurt mumbles as Blaine reaches over him to switch off the light, “Thirty stories.”

“Sure,” Blaine yawns, “Put your earplugs in, honey.”

“Mm, wait.” Kurt props himself up on his elbow - eyes still closed - and feels for Blaine’s face in the darkness. “Goodnight kiss.”

Blaine purses his lips, waiting as Kurt’s fingers brush his nose and then his cheek, finally finding his mouth. A moment later, Kurt’s kiss lands right on the corner of his mouth, and then his husband finally collapses into the pillows, fumbling to grab his earplugs blindly from his nightstand. Blaine stays awake a few minutes longer, listening out for Maeve’s whimpers, or for Joy calling for them.

But he hears nothing, and as Kurt wraps him up in his arms, Blaine finally falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> maeve means "the cause of great joy" if you're interested :)


	6. feed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we got kurt doing bad earlier this week, now we got blaine on that shit too!

“Okay, sit up,” Kurt orders, tapping Blaine’s shoulder as he lies on the couch watching reruns of Dr. Phil. “Seriously, sweetie, upright.”

“No,” Blaine says thickly, head squashed against the arm of the couch. “‘M comfy.”

Sighing, Kurt places the tray of food he made on the coffee table. “Are you gonna make me move you?”

Blaine blows his nose in reply.

“Okay, fine,” Kurt digs under the layers of blankets and gets his hands under Blaine’s armpits, “Up we go, come on.”

“ _Kuuuuurt_ ,” Blaine whines, “Leave me alone.”

Kurt ignores him, keeps pulling until Blaine is upright. His hair is flattened on one side and sticking up on the other, and now Kurt can see his whole face he can appreciate just how miserable Blaine looks.

“Why would you do that to me?” Blaine’s voice sounds like it’s scraping his throat raw. “I’m _sick_.”

“You have the flu, and you’ll be fine,” Kurt sits down next to him before Blaine can collapse back down and puts the mug of soup aside, lifting the perfectly toasted grilled cheese. “Open wide.”

He lifts the sandwich to Blaine’s lips. Blaine looks at him, eyes narrowed, and keeps his mouth shut.

“Oh my god,” Kurt rolls his eyes, “You have to eat today, Blaine. You can’t just lie here.”

Blaine huffs, blowing his nose again and tugging the blanket tighter around him. Resolutely, Kurt holds the grilled cheese in front of his face. “Doesn’t that smell good? Made with real Kraft singles. I shelled out for this sandwich. Only the best for _my_ husband.”

The corner of Blaine’s mouth twitches and his eyes soften a fraction as he sniffs and worms one hand out of his blanket cocoon to take the grilled cheese from Kurt. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Kurt wraps his arm around Blaine’s shoulders, “Warm enough?”

“Mm.” Blaine sniffles again. His voice has gotten far more gravelly since he caught this flu, and if the poor thing didn’t look so sick Kurt would find it hot.

“I don’t get why I’m so sick and you’re not.” Blaine says, taking a bite of the grilled cheese. He speaks with his mouth full, which he wouldn’t usually do. “It’s not fair.”

“I got my flu shot, honey,” Kurt says, and Blaine grumbles. “I did too! It’s bull.”

He puts the grilled cheese down for a moment to blow his nose yet again, flinging the tissue at the trash can by his feet. Kurt tries not to cringe at the grease that’ll end up on their throw blanket. Taking a moment to chew, Blaine continues, brows furrowed. “We even got it at the same place!”

“I think you just got unlucky,” Kurt says softly, brushing Blaine’s curls off his forehead. They stick up where they were pushed, testament to how long it’s been since Blaine’s washed his hair properly. “You’ll be better soon.”

Blaine reaches for the soup, coughing harshly into the crook of his elbow. Kurt pets the back of his head gently as Blaine burrows into his side, clutching the mug of soup with one hand and the grilled cheese in the other. “You okay? Want another blanket?”

“I’m okay,” Blaine says, his voice rough, “Thank you.”

“For what?” Kurt tucks the blanket around Blaine’s feet so they don’t get cold. Even wearing thick fleece pajamas and two pairs of socks, his husband is still shivering.

“Taking care of me,” Blaine blinks up at him, sniffing again. His eyes are red and a little bleary, but still beautiful. “Feeding me, bringing me tea, making me laugh.”

“As if I wouldn’t do anything for you,” Kurt rubs the tips of his nose against Blaine’s. “Up to and including emptying all your nasty tissues into the trash.”

Blaine smiles. “In sickness and in health, right?”

“Technically we didn’t say that in our vows, but sure.”

Blaine hums, sips his soup, and leans his head on Kurt’s shoulder. They watch the TV silently for a few minutes, until Blaine yawns and says, “We should go on Dr. Phil someday.”

Kurt’s fully aware that this is the flu talking, so he plays along. “When your addiction to polo shirts gets truly out of control, I wouldn’t be surprised if we did.”

Blaine mumbles something into his mug, and Kurt squeezes him a little. “Huh?”

“I said you like my polos too much to take me to Dr. Phil about it,” Blaine repeats, slurping up the last of his soup. Kurt smiles, because Blaine knows all too well just how much Kurt loves the shirts that draw attention to his tiny waist and broad shoulders. “Perhaps. Or maybe you’ll finally get sick of my brooch collection and insist that we fight it out in front of America’s favorite talk show host.”

“We’ll see,” Blaine yawns, “I want to take a nap now. Take a nap with me.”

“If you insist,” Kurt says, tugging the blanket over his legs as well. He turns the TV off and grabs a pillow to rest his head on. “Do you want any music on?”

Blaine’s already out like a light, snoring softly with his mouth open. It’s proof of how much Kurt loves him that he finds it cute how Blaine sleeps when he’s sick.

Kurt strokes Blaine’s stubbly cheek, kisses his forehead, and settles down to nap.


	7. gradual

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kurt's milkshake brings all the boys to the yard

“Blaine!” Kurt’s voice echoes through their brand new apartment, “Where are the damn glasses?”

Blaine pauses in the middle of trying to find the box of sheets so they actually have something to sleep on that night. It’s eighty five degrees and their air con unit is getting delivered tomorrow, so the idea of making the walk from their bedroom to the oppressively hot kitchen is not tempting. The heat has only exacerbated the stress of navigating through New York traffic early in the morning in a U-Haul and trying to move all of the boxes upstairs before they had to return the truck.

“Aren’t they in the box marked _glasses?_ ” Blaine replies, trying not to let the irritation shine through in his voice. Kurt keeps asking questions that would be answered if he bothered to read the labels that Blaine wrote on the boxes specifically to prevent this. Of course, the question of whether Kurt packed into the relevantly labelled boxes is entirely separate.

He hears Kurt say “Oh, there they are!” and rolls his eyes. Maybe it’s the heat and the knowledge that they have another full day of unpacking before their apartment even starts to feel like home that’s making him tetchy, but he’s feeling out of his depth and desperate for a break.

Huffing, Blaine hauls the next box of clothes over to the wardrobe. His shirt is sticking to his back and he can feel sweat trickling down between his shoulderblades. The heat is so oppressive that they drew all the blinds so the rooms are not only hot but dark, and it makes him frustratingly sleepy. Their fans are somewhere in the boxes piled next to the front door, and Blaine considers braving the thick humidity in the hallway to try and find them, but can’t bring himself to.

He’s jolted out of his thoughts by the sound of the blender from the kitchen. Blaine grinds his teeth together, wondering why Kurt is testing out new appliances when the rest of the apartment is a complete mess. He’s starting to feel like he needs to take a long walk to somewhere that’s air conditioned and very quiet or he’ll start screaming and never stop.

“Blaine!”

Blaine closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “Yeah?”

“Where are the straws?”

Blaine places his palms against his eyes and presses until he sees stars. “I don’t know, Kurt, you packed the kitchen drawers, remember?”

He can almost hear Kurt mutter “Good point,” under his breath. Blaine sits down on the bed and tugs another box over, picking at the duct tape until the edge peels up enough for him to rip it off.

“Are you in the bedroom?” Kurt calls, and Blaine sighs. “Yeah, I’m here.” _As opposed to our private gym or office?_

Kurt pokes his head around the corner. “You okay?”

Blaine huffs, shaking his head. “I think I need a break.”

“I figured you might,” Kurt smiles, doing a little hop sideways into the room, “I made milkshakes!”

He’s holding two tall glasses topped with whipped cream, each with one of their fancy metal straws sticking out at a jaunty angle. Blaine blinks several times, surprised as Kurt crosses the room and sits down next to him. “Here. Strawberry-”

“Kurt,” Blaine’s heart melts, and he feels the frustration gradually dissipate. “Thank you.”

“Let’s go grocery shopping after this, huh?” Kurt nudges him, “Find something for dinner and go stand under some aircon.”

Blaine forgoes the straw and just tips about a third of the milkshake directly into his mouth like a frat boy chugging a beer. He swallows hard and manages to say “sure” before the brainfreeze hits him like a train.

“Ooh,” he sways forward, holding the glass tight in one hand and massaging his temple with the other. Kurt, audibly trying to refrain from laughing, rubs his back. “You okay?”

“I’m good,” Blaine puts the milkshake down, “Maybe that was a mistake.”

“Never would have seen it coming,” Kurt pets the back of his head gently, “Come sit in the kitchen with me. I opened all the windows and it’s almost cool.”

And it _is_ almost cool. Kurt had found the fans and set them both up both pointing at their kitchen table, and when Blaine sinks into the seat opposite them he sighs in relief, letting his head fall onto the table.

“Drink up,” Kurt nudges him, “Let’s try and make it to Trader Joe’s before the cooling effect -”

He’s interrupted by a crash of thunder outside, followed by the distinctive patter of rain. Kurt opens the blinds and cool air washes into the apartment, propagated by the rain. Blaine joins him, staring out over the street as people run for cover under jackets.

“Well,” Blaine says, “Still want to go to Trader Joe’s?”

Kurt turns to him, face sour. “It seemed a lot more attractive five minutes ago, I’m not gonna lie.”

“Come on,” Blaine picks up his milkshake, “Come unpack the bedroom with me. Maybe when we find the sheets we can break in our new bed while the rain lasts.”

“That’s why I married you,” Kurt shuts the blinds again, “You’re so smart.”

Blaine rolls his eyes, takes Kurt’s hand, and leads him back into the apartment.


	8. house

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two spies, chilling in a museum, five feet apart cause they're not gay.

“Eyes on the creep across the room by the doorway,” Kurt murmurs into his lapel, drumming his fingers on the bar, “He’s shifty.”

“ _Got it,”_ Santana’s voice crackles in his ear, “ _Make another loop of the room so I can get a close up, can’t see his face._ ”

Kurt straightens his jacket, slides out of his seat and starts a slow loop around the room. He pauses by a waiter in all black and takes a glass of champagne from his tray, pretends to sip it as he fakes interest in a fancy vase, meandering his way towards the skinny guy in the ill-fitting suit who’s leering at a dark-haired Asian woman in a long red dress.

“ _Stop there_ ,” Santana orders, “ _Let me zoom.”_

Kurt casts his eyes down and takes another fake sip of champagne as the tiny camera in the frame of his glasses zooms in. A moment later, Santana huffs. “ _Nothing coming up on facial recognition for the last three heists. He’s not our guy._ ”

Kurt moves on, scanning the room for anyone else who fits the vague descriptor of the international art smuggler they’re looking for. Unfortunately, the majority of men in the room are white, between five foot nine and six foot one and of average build.

“Are you sure you don’t have a better descriptor?” Kurt masks his face by bending to retie his shoe, “I’m struggling here.”

“ _Just keep looking and I’ll keep scanning,_ ” Santana says tersely, “ _He’s here somewhere. The auction should start soon_.”

Kurt cruises back around to the bar, leaving his flute of champagne on the edge of a table. A woman dressed in a backless green dress which doesn’t suit her in the slightest gives him a flirty up-and-down look, but Kurt just keeps walking until he’s back at the bar, sliding in between a couple and an woman wearing blue.

“What can I get for you?” the bartender looks extremely tetchy, and Kurt’s eyes automatically flash to his hip. He’s not carrying, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a handgun stored behind the bar. He curses Santana for sending him in unarmed.

“Just a coke is fine.” Kurt leans his elbow on the bar and uses his vantage point in the corner to visually sweep the room again. There’s too many people crammed into this museum - too many people for him to case without help.

The bartender slides him the glass. Kurt smiles, digs in his pocket for his wallet, and then the bartender waves him off. “It’s on the house.”

Kurt’s heart leaps into his throat. Has he been made? _Shit, shit, shit. This isn’t good_.

The bartender points towards the end of the bar, and Kurt sees a familiar man. A very familiar man. Wearing a dark blue bowtie with neatly gelled hair.

“Oh you’re kidding me,” Kurt breathes.

Blaine Anderson flickers his fingers in a wave, smiling from fifteen feet away. Kurt grits his teeth, grabs the coke off the bar, and starts making his way through the crowd.

 _“Isn’t that Agent Anderson?_ ” Santana says in his ear.

“Mm-hmm,” Kurt affirms. She laughs. “ _Oh, you’re in deep shit, Hummel_. _The hell’s he doing here?_ ”

“I’m about to find out,” Kurt replies, then lifts his finger to his lapel and turns off the mic. Santana will still have eyes on the room, and she’ll undoubtedly shout in his ear, but he doesn’t need her hearing this conversation.

“James!” Blaine says cheerfully, sliding off the barstool and opening his arms, “So good to see you!”

_How the fuck does he know my cover name?_

Kurt evades the hug and slips his arm around Blaine’s waist, leading him away from the bar and into a quiet corner, a plastic smile on his face. “What the hell are you doing here?” he says out of the corner of his mouth, “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Just trying to join in the fun,” Blaine smiles innocently, “I hear you’re chasing a weasel.”

Kurt hushes him harshly, still forcing a smile. If any of the security in the room hear the name the Weasel, they’ll shut the whole event down and Kurt will never get his chance. “Do you have a fucking death wish? You’re not even in art, you’re in animals.”

Blaine laughs like Kurt’s said something hilarious, smacking him lightly on the arm. Kurt _refuses_ to be endeared by this man’s smile and pretty eyes. “You’re so funny! Anyway, who’s to say I’m not following a lead?”

“At a fucking art auction?” Kurt backs Blaine against the wall next to another column, shielding their conversation from prying eyes. “Why would there be animal trafficking here? Do you see a tiger?”

“I’m looking for the same person you are.” Blaine pulls his sleeve up, turning his hand upright. There’s a tiny bug concealed in his palm, one Kurt recognises as a prototype shown to him a couple weeks ago. “I’m not going to blow your cover if you’re not going to blow mine.”

“Easier said than done.” Kurt steps back, still fuming. Blaine shakes his sleeve back down and takes the coke out of Kurt’s hands, taking a sip. He licks his lips, quirked into a smile, and Kurt’s mouth goes dry as he watched Blaine swallow.

“Good luck, James,” Blaine leans up on his toes, tugs Kurt’s lapel straight and switches his mic back on. His lips brush the shell of Kurt’s ear, and he whispers, “ _Call me Aaron tonight, cutie._ ”

A shiver runs down Kurt’s spine, and he ends up staring vacantly as Blaine strolls away, Kurt’s coke still held in one hand. He merges seamlessly with the crowd, his arm settling around the waist of the Asian woman in red Kurt had seen earlier, and they come to a stop opposite one of the works of art up for auction, striking up conversation with another couple examining it. They make a very handsome couple, and Kurt realises he’s gritting his teeth in jealousy.

“ _Wow_ ,” Santana says in his ear. “ _What was that?_ ”

Kurt does not reply, grabs another flute of champagne, and downs it in one. If he’s going to do this, he’s going to need a little bit of alcohol.

The next half hour is totally fruitless. He sits at the bar, nursing another coke, and keeps flagging targets to Santana, who keeps shooting them down. By the time the auction is about to start, Kurt still has no idea who the Weasel is, and is starting to feel like this entire thing has been a bust.

That is, until the woman he saw Blaine with earlier makes her way back towards the bar.

Kurt tries not to glare at her as she approaches, but he’s mostly unsuccessful. She lifts her dress to climb the stairs to the bar, and Kurt sees a hint of black under the red. She’s wearing a thigh holster.

He lowers his eyes to his drink as she comes to stand beside him, leaning on the bar. The bartender takes her order - an amaretto sour. Kurt pretends not to have noticed that the amaretto liquor is at the other end of the bar, scoring them a few seconds of quiet.

“The man you’re looking for.” she says quietly, setting her purse down on the bar and opening it. She withdraws a tinted chapstick, uncaps it, and lifts it to shield her mouth from view. “Right corner, blue suit, next to the vase. Looks like a - well, you’ll know.”

Kurt finds the vase, then finds the man. He has a sharp face, unpleasant to take in, and… he looks like a weasel. Kurt suddenly knows where the nickname came from.

“You’re sure?” he says into his drink, and she nods imperceptibly, snapping her purse shut again. “Aaron says hi, by the way.”

Kurt’s jaw clenches involuntarily. She shakes her hair over her shoulder, slides a ten dollar bill across the bar, and winks at him as she leaves.

“ _Damn_ ,” Santana’s voice crackles in her ear, “ _Talk about a femme fatale._ ”

“Who is she?” Kurt does actually take a sip of his coke now. His mouth has turned dry as he stares at the weaselly looking guy across the room. _Is that really him?_

“ _Let me check._ ” He can hear her nails tapping against the keyboard. “ _Tina Cohen-Chang. She just joined._ ”

“Mm.” Kurt files the information away for later and gets up, deciding to make a move. “Follow me.”

He makes a circuit around the room, stops to engage in polite conversation with an elderly couple right opposite the guy in the blue suit. He reaches up and adjusts his glasses, the silent cue for Santana to start scanning faces.

“ _Acknowledged_ ,” she says. Kurt smiles and laughs at a bad joke told by the husband, tilting his head so the camera would get a better view.

Thirty seconds later, she inhales sharply. “ _Shit. That’s him._ _Kurt, the auction starts any minute. You either make the move now or do it later_.”

Kurt adjusts his glasses again, a silent _understood_. He bows out of the conversation politely and eyes the guy up, trying to figure out how best to slip a bug on him.

And then he sees Blaine cut through the crowd towards him, a determined look on his face.

 _Not today,_ Kurt thinks, but just as he moves to intercept the lady in green from earlier cuts him off, batting her eyes.

 _Shit_. Kurt smiles at her, knowing if he tries to escape now it’ll be far too suspicious. She twirls a strand of hair around her finger, asks him his name.

“James,” Kurt says distractedly. Blaine’s cutting around the back of the Weasel’s chair, and Kurt sees his hand flash out to plant the bug on the guy’s shoulder. Just at the last second, the guy leans forward in his chair, and Blaine’s hand meets thin air.

“Who are you here with?” the lady tilts her head, “A date?”

“No, alone.” Kurt watches frustration flash in Blaine’s eyes. He turns, doubles back, and puts a surprised look on his face. Kurt hears him say “Oh my god, is that you?”

He’s _directly engaging_ the Weasel. Kurt wants to _scream_ at him, what the hell are you doing?

“It’s me, it’s Aaron Romsey! We met last year, at the Natural History Museum. New York? Remember?”

The Weasel’s eyes narrow a moment as he looks Blaine up and down. Kurt’s heart is in his mouth. He’s ready to hurdle the table if he has to, when the Weasel smiles and extends his hand. “Nice to see you again. It’s been a while.”

“Of course, of course,” Blaine shakes enthusiastically, with both hands. Kurt watches him hold onto the Weasel’s hand just a moment too long, watches the man’s face twitch a little in discomfort, but Blaine’s already letting go. There’s a smug sparkle in his eye. Kurt knows he’s been successful. The bug must be on the Weasel’s watch, or maybe his cufflinks.

“ _Hot damn_ ,” Santana says, “ _That was smooth as hell._ ”

Blaine looks like he’s about to bow out, making his excuses, shaking the Weasel’s hand again. Kurt hears him say “We should catch up later, after the auction?” as he starts to back away but then the Weasel stops him, still holding Blaine’s hand. His eyes drag up and down Blaine’s body, interest clear in his gaze, and Blaine looks, just for a moment, like a rabbit caught in headlights.

 _Absolutely not_ , Kurt thinks.

“I sure am thirsty,” the lady says, fanning herself. Kurt recognises the hint for what it is, and rejects it. “Bar’s that way,” he says with a thin smile, and ducks away from her.

“ _Kurt, do not engage_ ,” Santana says, “ _Do **not** engage_.”

Kurt ignores her. He pushes past another couple, slides between a column and another vase, and comes up behind Blaine with ice in his smile.

“Aaron!” he announces, sliding his arm around Blaine’s waist. He tugs hard, so Blaine’s body is aligned against his possessively, and the Weasel releases his hand. “There you are, I’ve been looking for you.” He turns to the Weasel and inclines his head. “James Free. And you are?”

The Weasel’s eyes narrow again. He really does look like a weasel, Kurt thinks. Or maybe a meerkat. Some sort of small, rodent-like creature with unkind eyes.

“Sebastian,” he says cooly, “Sebastian Smythe. How do you two know each other?”

“ _Did you just get me a name?_ ” Santana near-shrieks in his ear.

Blaine’s hand sneaks under the back of Kurt’s jacket, clutches his shirt tight. Kurt glances sideways. He can see the tension in Blaine’s smile, the way his eyes are starting to dart nervously.

“Engaged to be married,” Blaine says, and leans his head onto Kurt’s shoulder, “I’ll be Aaron Free in five months!”

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Santana sounds like she’s on the brink of hysterical laughter, “ _What the fuck are you doing, Kurt? Get out of there!_ ”

“Congratulations,” the Weasel says, and clearly does not mean it, “How lovely.”

“ _The auction is about to begin_ ,” someone announces loudly over the intercom, “ _Please make your way into the auditorium and take your seats. I repeat, the auction is about to begin._ ”

“We should go,” Kurt squeezes Blaine’s waist, “Great to meet you, though. I’m sure we’ll see you around.”

“I’m sure,” the Weasel says, “Have a good evening.”

“You too,” Kurt smiles again, and then, with a nudge against Blaine’s hip, they start to make their way with the flow of the crowd into the auditorium.

“ _What the hell was that_ ,” Blaine hisses, hand still clutching Kurt’s shirt, “ _Was that supposed to be covert?_ ”

“Shut up and walk.” Kurt keeps his eyes straight, “If we keep quiet we might make it out of this.”

Blaine huffs, audibly irritated, but he doesn’t try and move away from Kurt. They head into the hall and take two seats by the back, next to each other. Kurt’s started this relationship, he might as well stick to it. He sees Tina take a seat behind the Weasel, and the glance she shoots him is amused.

“ _The minute this thing ends, I’m sending the car_ ,” Santana says. The hysterical energy has gone from her voice, and Kurt knows if the Weasel notices the bug they might have to fight their way out. “ _Hang on in there, Hummel_.”

Kurt adjusts his glasses again. His hands are trembling, he realises, whether with anger or adrenaline he’s not sure.

Blaine’s hand is to his ear, likely receiving similar instructions from whoever’s on the end of his earpiece. His jaw is set, and Kurt imagines he’s going to get a real dressing down from his handler for this.

They sit there, backs straight and eyes forward, for a nail-biting hour and a half. Occasionally they raise their paddles, playing the part of interested buyers, but mostly Kurt just watches the Weasel. He’s talking, quietly, to two of his companions. Kurt hopes the bug Blaine planted is catching enough. Once they know what the Weasel has his eyes on, they’ll know what and where to intercept. That’s all they need to do. Blaine bids on a piece by David Hockney, nearly wins it, and Kurt has to jerk his arm down by the sleeve so he doesn’t.

“ _That is out of the budget_ ,” he hisses in Blaine’s ear. Blaine huffs again, rolling his eyes and slumping back against Kurt’s arm.

When the auction ends, Kurt shoots out of his seat, pulling Blaine with him. He wants to power walk the hell out of this museum and never look back, but Blaine stops him. “Do you want to draw attention to us?” he snaps, pretending to straighten Kurt’s tie.

“Fine,” Kurt rests his hand on Blaine’s hip, “But I want to get the hell out of here.”

“ _Car’s outside_ ,” Santana says in his ear, “ _Get out of there, Hummel_.”

They turn and start to make their way towards the exit when out of the corner of his eye, Kurt sees the Weasel heading for them.

“Shit,” he mutters, linking arms with Blaine, “He’s coming.”

Blaine’s eyes dart sideways and then all of a sudden he grabs Kurt by the lapels and swings him up against the wall.

“Wh -” Kurt’s eyes widen, and Blaine whispers “ _Play along_ ,” and then kisses him.

Kurt grabs onto Blaine’s jacket, eyes fluttering closed. Blaine still tastes sweet, like the soda he drank earlier, and his hands are hot against Kurt’s chest.

“Alright, gentlemen, move along,” a security guard stops beside them, looking awkward. Blaine leans back, giggles like he’s drunk and waves his hand at the guard. “Sorry, sorry! Let’s go, sweetie, let’s go.”

Kurt leans his head down like he’s a little drunk too, fakes a stumble and puts his arm around Blaine again. The Weasel has backed off, Kurt sees him making his way through the crowd away from them, a sour look on his face.

“ _I’m going to pretend I didn’t just witness that first person_ ,” Santana says dryly, “ _And you owe me dinner for making me live it._ ”

“Deal,” Kurt says under his breath.

They peel off into an alcove and into one of the exhibits out of sight of everyone leaving. Kurt finally lets go of Blaine’s waist and takes a breath. “Oh boy. That didn’t go as planned.”

“You are such a -” Blaine shoves his shoulder, “What the hell was all of that? You are so possessive!”

“I’m not!” Kurt says, indignant, “You had a look on your face that said _get me out of here!_ ”

“I can fully handle myself,” Blaine undoes his bowtie and runs a hand through his neatly styled hair. “I’m _on the job_ , Kurt.”

“So am I!” Kurt unbuttons his jacket, “I didn’t even know you were going to be here. You didn’t tell me!”

“Just because -”

“Boys?”

They both turn to see Tina standing there, holding her heels in one hand. She arches an eyebrow. “Our car’s waiting, Blaine. I know he’s your husband, but I don’t think Mercedes will be happy if you don’t come back with me.”

Blaine rolls his eyes and turns, pointing at Kurt. “We’re talking about this later.”

“I would expect nothing less,” Kurt snarks back. Blaine wrinkles his nose at him, then bobs up on his toes and kisses the corner of his mouth. “See you at home.”

They rejoin the trickle of people leaving the museum, and Kurt waits a moment before he does too. Blaine and Tina split off and get into a limo, driven by another agent that Kurt recognises, Sam, wearing a chauffeur's outfit. Kurt continues down the road, takes a left and then another left and finally sees the operations van Santana’s been working from, concealed as a repair truck. There’s even a guy fiddling with a cable box. Kurt glances over his shoulder to make sure no one is looking, then jogs up and says, “Guess who.”

“Finally,” Mike puts his screwdriver down, “I’ve been pretending to fix this thing for five minutes. Let’s get out of here.”

Five minutes later, his glasses-cam and mic returned to their foam lined boxes, Kurt finally gets his phone back from Santana. There, on the screen, is a text waiting for him.

**_From: Husband  
You owe me for nearly blowing my cover. Please pick up Chinese on your way home :)8_ **

Kurt rolls his eyes, replies, **_*you* owe *me* for showing up on my mission without warning._**

**_From: Husband  
:(8_ **

**_To: Husband  
But I will pick up Chinese._ **

**_From: Husband  
:)8_ **

**_From: Husband  
See you at home. Love you._ **

**_To: Husband  
Love you too._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so who saw the twist coming :)


	9. incident

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> late night fluff

Blaine lays on the bed, wrapped up in Kurt’s NYADA hoodie and playing candy crush on his phone. The brownstone he shares with Sam and Mercedes is quiet - his roommates being elsewhere, Sam at a photoshoot out of town and Mercedes out caroling - so they’d taken advantage of having actual walls and some privacy to have a lazy day in bed together. Blaine’s body still buzzes from Kurt’s hands on his skin, and he’s waiting for Kurt to get out of the shower so they can warm up under the comforter again.

Blaine hears the pipes screech as Kurt turns off the faucet, and he hops under the covers to start warming them up. Even though the bathroom is on the other end of the brownstone Blaine can hear Kurt’s feet on the wooden floor, the boards creaking under his weight.

“There’s been _an incident_ at the loft,” Kurt says without preamble as he walks into the bedroom, his towel tucked around his waist. “Rachel just texted me.”

Blaine curls up on the bed trying not to shiver and appreciates his boyfriend’s torso as long as it’s on display. Kurt’s abs always seem perfectly toned, no matter how much leftover Chinese they eat. Blaine watches a bead of water trickle down his abdomen and into the towel, and tries to telekinetically undo it. “What kind of incident? Something bad?”

“She says the shower won’t turn on.” Kurt rolls his eyes as he stares at his phone. “She wants me to come look at it.”

“Now?” Blaine’s voice is a little whiny, but dammit, he wants to spend time with his fiancé. “Why now? She can’t call the super?”

“I guess not. But it is eleven at night, I don’t even know if he’d answer.”

Blaine pouts. “Are you gonna go?”

Kurt looks over the top of his phone at Blaine and arches an eyebrow. “Are you serious? No way, I’m not going. It’s eleven and it’s thirty degrees out there. Rachel can wait until tomorrow.”

Blaine’s very satisfied with this answer, settling back onto the bed with a smug smile on his face. “I just wanted to check.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Kurt turns his back to Blaine to grab his pajamas, drops his towel to put them on. Blaine unashamedly checks out Kurt’s ass as well. The cold weather means they spend as little time as possible unclothed; he’ll take the opportunity while he can.

“Budge over.” Kurt throws the covers back and slides into bed, opening his arms. Still smug, Blaine switches off the light, burrows down under the covers and up against Kurt’s chest, sighing happily. “You sure you’re not going to go help Rachel?”

“Are you kidding?” Kurt grumbles, his eyes already closing. “Now I’m in bed with my husband-to-be keeping me warm?”

“Just checking,” Blaine smiles as Kurt kisses the top of his head, “So I know where your loyalties lie.”

“With you,” Kurt murmurs softly. “Always, Blaine, with you.”


	10. joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> having kids is rough sometimes!

Blaine’s juggling a bottle and Joy’s after-school snack, exhausted from a colicky Maeve not sleeping pretty much the entire night. Kurt, having some sort of important meeting that day, had asked if Blaine would take the second night in a row, and of course Blaine had said yes. His husband has been working on something important that he won’t tell Blaine about, and while he’s a little wounded at being excluded, his lack of sleep is more pressing.

“Daddy, I don’t want a P-B-J!” Joy thumps her fists on the table, glaring at him, “I said I wanted crackers!”

“Well, we don’t have any crackers,” Blaine says, depositing the plate in front of her as he bounces Maeve up and down on his chest, “So it’s PB&J time until Daddy gets home and can run to the grocery store, okay?”

“No!” Joy stands up in her chair, “I hate P-B-J! I’m not gonna eat it!”

“Joy, sweetie, please sit down,” Blaine stops bouncing for a moment, walking around the table to help Joy sit down in her chair, “You have to eat something after school, okay? If you don’t want to eat the sandwich you can have some fruit.”

“I don’t want fruit!” Joy refuses to sit down, leaning precariously. Blaine has to grab her around the waist to keep her from falling. “I hate fruit! I want crackers!”

“No raised voices,” Blaine reminds her as Maeve begins to fuss on his shoulder, “It’s PB&J or fruit, bundle, so you have to pick one.”

“NO!” Joy screams, and swipes at the plate. Her hand connects, and Blaine watches it spin off the edge of the table and, with a crash, break on the floor.

Blaine’s first instinct is just to _yell_. Not even words, just scream, because he’s so tired and Maeve is already starting to cry and now he has to clean up a plate -

So he closes his eyes, counts to three, and says. “Upstairs. Time out. Now.”

Joy huffs and kicks her chair back from the table. “I hate you!”

“No harsh words!” Blaine calls after her as she stomps up the stairs. A few moments later, he hears her door slam.

Blaine slumps against the table, already exhausted. _Six going on sixteen_ , he thinks to himself tiredly, pinching the bridge of his nose. Maeve is silent, blessedly, and against the sound of Joy stomping about upstairs, he hears another noise. A familiar chomping noise.

“Oh shit,” he says, spinning around. Pepper, having already scarfed down one half of the peanut butter jelly sandwich, seizes the other half and books it towards her bed.

“Pepper!” Blaine yells, “No! Come here! Bad dog!”

She halts in the middle of the kitchen, gulps down the rest of the sandwich and returns, head low and tail wagging hesitantly.

“God _dammit_ ,” Blaine grabs her mouth and prises her jaws open with one hand, peering down her throat. There’s no sign of the sandwich. It’s disappeared into her stomach, Blaine assumes, with his will to live.

Pepper whips her head away and dances off, clearly very pleased with herself. Maeve grumbles in his ear, grabbing at his shirt and catching a handful of skin in her tiny fist. Blaine lifts her hand away on automatic, still bouncing up and down, and fetches the broom.

He has to drag the moses basket into the kitchen to put Maeve down for five minutes so he can sweep the floor, and in that time she works herself up into a full screaming fit despite him trying to comfort her from only a few feet away. When he’s finished, he glances out into the garden and sees Pepper hacking up half of the sandwich into Blaine’s flowerbed.

So then Blaine has to go back and check the peanut butter and jelly ingredients, then spends the next ten minutes on the phone to the vet, trying to explain while rocking Maeve exactly what Pepper’s eaten and when. After being assured that Pepper will be fine, he hangs up the phone, picks Maeve - finally quiet - sits down on the couch, and starts crying.

He really, really needs a break. He’s exhausted, he probably has about three minutes before Maeve starts crying again, he needs to talk to Joy and he’ll definitely need to do something about the sandwich in the garden before it attracts pests. But right then, getting up seems impossible, so he just sits on the couch holding his baby and sniffing sadly.

And then, like a chime from above, he hears the front door unlock.

“Hello family!” he hears Kurt call, followed by him going, much quieter, “ _Shit the baby_.”

Blaine gets up from the couch slowly, lets Pepper greet Kurt first. When his husband walks through into the living room, he sees Blaine’s face and goes from smiling to concerned.

“Are you okay?” he reaches out, and Blaine falls into his arms, resting his head on Kurt’s shoulder while making sure Maeve doesn’t get squashed. “It’s been a bad half hour.”

“You look tired.” Kurt reaches out, “Here, let me take Mimi.”

Blaine kind of hates that nickname for Maeve, but he’s too tired to argue. He hands her over and lets Kurt lead him over to the couch.

“What happened?” Kurt pulls Blaine in against his side, “Tell me all about it.”

Blaine closes his eyes. “Oh boy. Where to start? Maeve wouldn’t go down for her nap today, she’s been crying on and off pretty much since you left. She finally fell asleep before pick up, so I did too, and was nearly late getting Joy - who then pitched a fit because we didn’t have crackers for her snack and threw a plate on the floor which smashed.”

“She what?” Kurt says, startled, but Blaine keeps going. “Pepper then ate the sandwich, I put Maeve down to sweep up the plate and she started crying again, then Pepper threw the sandwich up in the garden so I called the vet to make sure she was okay and why won’t you tell me what’s going on at work?”

The last part definitely wasn’t meant to come out, but now he’s said it he can’t take it back. Blaine puts his hand over his face and manages to mumble, “It feels like life’s just playing a joke on me today.”

“Sweetie, I’m so sorry,” Kurt strokes his back gently, “Why didn’t you say something?”

“You’re busy, and this is supposed to be my _job_ ,” Blaine sighs, “I’m the stay at home dad, aren’t I? I just couldn’t handle it today.”

“I should have taken Mimi last night,” Kurt says, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you what was going on, either.”

“It’s okay, I just -”

“I want to start my own company.”

Blaine’s head snaps up. “You what?”

“I want to start my own company,” Kurt looks nervous, “The meeting I had today was with a business advisor. I didn’t want to say anything until I spoke to an expert, in case it was a stupid idea.”

Blaine stares at him. A billion thoughts rush through his head, but all that comes out of his mouth is, “That’s it?”

“That’s it?” Kurt repeats, “I mean, I thought -”

“No, no, that’s not what I meant,” Blaine rubs his face, trying to engage his brain, “I meant - I meant why didn’t _you_ say something?”

“Well, I didn’t want - to disappoint you.” Kurt looks embarrassed, “It’s a pretty big undertaking. I wanted to speak to HR and my boss before I told you.”

“Kurt, we’re supposed to do this together,” Blaine says, “That’s why we got married. So we can talk over big decisions _together_.”

Kurt glances away. “I know. But you’ve been so tired lately, I didn’t want it to be another thing for you to worry about.”

“But I ended up worrying about it anyway because I didn’t know what the problem was.” Blaine could almost be angry, but he’s too tired.

“You’re right,” Kurt sighs, “You’re always right.”

“Not about everything,” Blaine flops back against the couch, “Not about what our daughter wants for a snack.”

“Well, this one seems pretty happy.” Kurt lifts Maeve a little, and Blaine looks over to see that she’s fast asleep, mouth open and head tipped back.

“Would you look at that.” Blaine leans over and strokes her cheek. “Guess all she needed was her Daddy.”

“Okay,” Kurt takes Blaine’s hand and squeezes it to get his attention, “I think you should take a nap.”

“Joy hasn’t eaten her snack -”

“I’ll do that,” Kurt says, “I did remember to buy crackers, so that’s one good thing. Mimi seems happy, so how about you and her take a nap right here on the couch and I’ll do the rest.”

“Kurt, you’ve been at work,” Blaine says miserably, “I can’t -”

“You can, and you will.” Kurt gets up and gently shoves Blaine down so he’s horizontal on the couch. “I’m gonna fetch the moses basket, and you’re going to take a nap, and when you wake up everything will be sorted.”

“Are you sure?” Blaine watches as Kurt walks into the kitchen and lifts the moses basket one-handed, hauling it across the room until it’s next to the couch.

“I’m absolutely sure,” Kurt lays Maeve in the crib and then reaches down and takes Blaine’s face in his hands. “You’re right. We’re doing this together. So you take a nap with our baby and I’m going to go and find Joy and feed her crackers.”

Blaine feels tears begin to well up in his eyes again. He searches for words for a moment, and then finally settles on a soft, “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Kurt kisses him, his hands framing Blaine’s face. For a moment, Blaine feels totally at peace, like Kurt’s touch can solve every problem. Kurt pulls away, but the feeling doesn’t. It persists, like a blanket draped around his shoulders.

“Take a nap,” Kurt tells him one last time, “When you wake up, dinner will be ready and we can talk everything through.”

“Okay,” Blaine says, finally giving up the fight. He lays back against the couch arm, watches Kurt brush a kiss over Mimi’s forehead and then head up the stairs. Blaine tugs the throw blanket over him and leans up on one elbow to make sure Maeve’s _definitely_ okay. She’s sleeping perfectly peacefully, eyes fluttering as she dreams.

Blaine collapses back down onto the couch and finally, finally falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> luckily when the world plays a joke on him kurt's there to explain the punchline :')


	11. kidnap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kurt wakes up in the middle of the night.

It feels like early morning when Kurt opens his eyes, blearly blinking in the faint light. He rolls over, still warm under the comforter, to check the clock.

It reads 2:09 AM.

“What the fuck,” Kurt grumbles, rolling back over to look for the source of the light. What he has mistaken as sunlight shining through the curtain is actually light shining over Blaine’s shoulder.

“Babe?” Kurt reaches out and touches Blaine’s shoulder lightly, then snatches it back as Blaine yelps and flinches violently, turning over.

“Kurt?” he gasps, “What the heck?”

“Blaine, it’s 2am,” Kurt props himself up on one elbow, squinting at the source of the light. “Why are you on your phone?”

“I’m not,” Blaine says, like Kurt can’t see it right there. Kurt stares him right in the face, utterly bemused by the situation.

“Are you on twitter?” Kurt leans forwards to look at Blaine’s phone. Blaine tries to move it out of his reach, but Kurt has longer arms and after a moment of struggling, manages to grab it. He lifts it right up to his nose, scrolling down the screen and fending Blaine off with his other hand.

_I woke up in the dark, my head blurry and thick with pain. Immediately, I tried to sit up, but couldn’t. As I became more aware, I realised I was bound with thick ropes. Could I have been abducted?_

“Are you reading horror stories?” Kurt says incredulously, “At _two in the morning?_ ”

“No,” Blaine says miserably. When Kurt doesn’t appear to be giving his phone back, he says, much quieter, “Maybe.”

Kurt stares at him, his half-asleep brain struggling to comprehend what’s happening. “Are you insane?”

“I can’t sleep,” Blaine shifts, embarrassment clear on his face. Kurt stares at him, still squinting in the dark, and then bursts out laughing.

“Don’t laugh!” Blaine says indignantly, “Hey! It’s not funny!”

“It kinda _is_ though,” Kurt leans all the way over Blaine and places his phone face down on his nightstand. “C’mon, you goof. Go to sleep.”

“But I -”

“Sleep, Blaine,” Kurt yawns, rolling back over onto his side.

“No, wait, Kurt.” Blaine shakes his shoulder, “Kurt, wait, what if -”

“Nope,” Kurt turns his face into his pillow, “Nope.”

“But what if there’s a raccoon man with creepy hands waiting to kidnap me in the closet?”

“There’s nothing in the closet, Blaine,” Kurt groans, “Nothing but an overabundance of red polo shirts.”

Blaine goes quiet for a moment, and Kurt takes advantage of the silence to close his eyes. After a moment, Blaine’s weight shifts the bed and Kurt feels him scooch all the way into the middle of the bed beside him, chest to back.

“Oh my god,” Kurt mumbles, rolling over and putting his arm around Blaine, “C’mere you dummy.”

Blaine immediately burrows into Kurt’s chest. “Need to stop opening links Mercedes sends me at night.”

“No kidding,” Kurt tugs at Blaine’s pajama shirt until he can slide his hand under it and against the small of Blaine’s back, “C’mon. I gotcha.”

Blaine’s nose tucks against the hollow of his neck, eyelashes fluttering over the skin of his throat. His breath huffs, warm against Kurt’s chest, as his fingers squirm cold over Kurt’s ribs. Blaine always sleeps curled up in a ball when he’s scared of something, and tonight is no different. His knees press lightly into Kurt’s stomach as his breathing slows and evens, the arms around him evidently doing enough to protect him from the raccoon men of his imagination.

“Love you,” Kurt says into his hair, “Stop reading horror stories.”

There’s a sleepy chuckle from around level with his collarbone. Kurt closes his eyes, content with his Blaine in his arms, and falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> klaine advent you can give me the saddest prompt ever and i will make fluff out of it.  
> hard mode: tell me which r/nosleep story blaine read that convinced him there's a raccoon man in his closet.


	12. language

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea. more fluff.

When Kurt gets in from his shift at the diner that evening, the loft is quiet. Rachel is out, somewhere, and she must have taken Santana and Sam with her, because the curtains around the beds are all open. Blaine’s supposed to be there, and for a moment Kurt thinks he must have gotten tired of waiting and gone out with the others - and then he sees one socked foot poking out from under the blankets on his bed.

Quietly, Kurt takes his shoes off and hangs up his coat, making his way across the loft as silently as possible. When he approaches his bed, he finally sees Blaine - curled up around Kurt’s boyfriend pillow, fast asleep. His hair is coming out of its gel, his bowtie is half-undone and his mouth is hanging open. He looks - so ridiculously adorable that Kurt pauses to take a photo. It isn’t a side of Blaine he gets to see often. His fiancé prides himself on being put together around others, and so getting to see him to relaxed is a rare occurrence when they share a loft with three other people.

From the moment they met, Kurt had been awed at how Blaine always appeared to be prepared for anything. It was like he’d stepped out of a classic hollywood movie, complete with the hair, the smile and the immaculately pressed blazer. Watching him dance that first time, every movement synced up and precise, his body language screaming confidence - it was hard not to put him on a pedestal. Blaine moved with such innate grace that Kurt constantly felt clumsy beside him. He always had the right words for every situation, seemed to breeze through life with ease. Kurt was jealous, at first - not enough to really resent him, but enough to just wish he had that kind of life.

Of course, as time went on, he began to see the perfect exterior crack. Maybe if he had been willing to let Blaine off the pillar he’d placed him on, Kurt might have seen it sooner. But as it was, slowly Blaine’s flaws revealed themselves. He was painfully earnest and a little bit naive. He was clueless when it came to relationships and frankly was awful at interpreting the signals Kurt threw at him. He was hard to anger, but when someone did, he could hold a grudge like no one else. He loved the spotlight and hated rejection. He wanted people to like him but would withhold the secrets he was most afraid of others knowing for fear of judgement. But the more flaws Kurt saw, the more he understood Blaine, and the more he loved him.

And he treasures moments like this - moments where Blaine lets down his guard fully, without any concern for what Kurt might think of him. It’s a side of Blaine that only Kurt really gets to see, and that’s something that he’s going to be eternally thankful for. Blaine’s trust means a lot now Kurt knows how hard it can be to earn.

Kurt crawls onto the bed and leans over Blaine, appreciating the way his long eyelashes shadow his cheeks. Gently, he squeezes his fiancé’s shoulder, trying to wake him gently.

Blaine barely stirs, only pulling the boyfriend pillow closer. He looks so comfortable that Kurt starts to consider joining him. Their plan had been to make dinner and catch up, but he’s exhausted and the space beside Blaine looks awful tempting.

But before he can make a decision, Blaine cracks one eye open and mumbles, “Kurt? That you?”

“Hey,” Kurt smiles, “I thought we had plans tonight?”

“We still do.” Blaine checks his watch and then groans. “Oh shoot. I overslept.”

Kurt laughs. “No kidding. Long day?”

“No, the bed just looked warm.” Blaine rolls onto his back and smiles up at Kurt. There’s a crease in his cheek from the material of the pillow and his face is a little pink. “How was your shift?”

“Long, boring,” Kurt leans down, “My day’s better now I’m with you.”

Blaine gives him one of his huge, heart-stopping grins - the one where his eyes scrunch up. Kurt’s heart swells with love. “Aw. You still want to make dinner?”

“Mm,” Kurt lowers his head until their lips are almost brushing, “You think it can wait?”

Blaine hums. “If we make it quick. I don’t know when Rachel’s getting back.”

“I’ll take the risk,” Kurt says, and kisses him.


	13. momentum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kurt and blaine go back to ohio for christmas ♥

It’s past ten when they finally touch down in Columbus, both exhausted from full days of work before travelling. Dragging suitcases half filled with clothes and half filled with gifts, they meander through the airport until Blaine spots Burt and Carole waving and guides Kurt through the throng of travellers to where his family waits.

“Tough flight?” his dad asks after subjecting both of them to crushing hugs, “You two look exhausted.”

“It’s that New York life,” Carole pulls him down into a tight embrace, “The city never sleeps, right?”

Kurt manages a laugh as she takes his carry on from him. “According to the drunks in our alleyway, no, it doesn’t.”

Blaine naps on his shoulder during the drive back to Lima, legs curled up on the seat under him. Kurt stopped being able to do that in junior year when his legs got too long, and it’s something Blaine never fails to tease him about when he gets a chance.

When they get in it’s nearly midnight, and Kurt’s absolutely ready to collapse into bed and sleep for twelve hours. They have to wade through snow to get into the house, and his dad complains about his bad back and how he can’t clear the paths. Kurt tells him to hire one of the kids from down the street to do it, and Burt laughs. “Why do that when my son’s home for the holidays?”

“Oh, I see how it is.” Kurt leans on the wall to take his shoes off. “I feel so loved.”

“As you should.” His dad ruffles his hair. “So Kurt, your room’s all set up, and Blaine, I got the couch all ready for you.”

There’s a second where Blaine - still half-asleep - and Kurt stare at each other in confusion. They’re married now, have been for a year and a half nearly, and if his dad thinks -

“No problem, Mr. Hummel,” Blaine says, ever the obedient son-in-law, and Kurt’s just working himself to lay down some rules when his dad bursts out laughing. “Hey now, no, I’m kidding. Come on, Kurt, you think I’m going to act like that?”

“Oh my god,” Kurt exhales, sinking back against the wall, “Blaine, we’re going back to New York.”

His dad laughs harder at that, evidently very pleased with his joke and Carole clicks her tongue at him disapprovingly. “Leave them alone, honey. Save it for the morning.”

Still chuckling, his dad pulls Kurt into a hug. “Welcome home, kid.”

Blaine goes directly to bed, but Kurt decides to take a shower first. Even after a short flight like the one from New York to Ohio he feels the need to wash off other people’s germs and gunk, so he stands under the hot water for a little while until he feels better. Getting out, he forgoes the sweatpants he’s been sleeping in in their tiny, freezing cold apartment for a thinner pair of pajama pants now they’re somewhere the heating actually works.

When Kurt crawls into bed beside Blaine, his weight making the mattress dip, Blaine doesn’t even stir. His breathing is already deep and even, but as Kurt lays down, Blaine immediately rolls over and clings to Kurt like a koala bear, arms wrapping around him tightly. Kurt shuffles back to more efficiently leach Blaine’s heat into his own body, plugs his phone in to charge and falls asleep almost instantaneously.

He wakes up around ten feeling well-rested, which is a novel concept considering they live across from a bar. The bed is cold next to him, so Blaine must have gotten up a while ago. Kurt lays there and listens for a moment, but can’t hear anything that would indicate where his husband is. Reluctantly, Kurt leaves the warmth of the covers to go and find food and Blaine.

When he descends the stairs he can hear quiet music playing and smell something frying. Kurt follows his nose through into the kitchen, where he finds his husband stood in front of the cooker, humming along with the Christmas music playing from the radio and flipping pancakes.

“Morning,” he says cheerily, looking over his shoulder as Kurt shuffles up behind him to kiss him, “I was just about to come get you for breakfast.”

“Smells good,” Kurt mumbles, enveloping Blaine in his arms. He must have showered, because his hair is still damp and he smells like conditioner and Kurt’s shower scrub. “Where’s Dad and Carole?”

“Burt’s at work.” Blaine’s wearing a washed-soft sweatshirt that Kurt just wants to sink into. “Carole went to run some errands. It’s supposed to snow later today, she wanted to go while the roads are still good.”

“Mm.” Kurt considers releasing Blaine to find coffee, but he’s tucked his hands into the pockets of his husband’s sweatshirt and is almost as warm as he was in bed. He closes his eyes, face squashed against Blaine’s shoulder and yawns.

“The bacon’s gonna burn if you don’t let go of me.” Blaine pats Kurt’s hands where they’re linked over his stomach, and Kurt reluctantly releases him, shuffling back across the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee. He seats himself at the kitchen table and watches Blaine make up two plates of eggs, bacon, hash browns and pancakes.

“Someone’s feeling domestic today,” Kurt teases as Blaine places the plate in front of him. “What triggered this?”

“Carole made the pancake mix and bought the hash browns, I just put it all together.” Blaine sits opposite him with his own cup of coffee, eyes sparkling mischievously. “Plus I might have offered up our services in clearing the front yard.”

Kurt pauses with bacon halfway to his mouth. “You what?”

Blaine upends the bottle of syrup over his plate. “Well, I offered up my services. You don’t have to help if you don’t want to.” He looks up through his eyelashes, batting his eyes.

Kurt groans. “You know if I leave you to do it alone I’ll never hear the end of it from Carole. You’re the worst.”

Blaine pouts. “Even after I cooked you breakfast?”

Kurt rolls his eyes and steals a bite of Blaine’s pancakes as revenge.

After breakfast they dress up warm to head out into the front yard. Kurt finds an old pair of snowboots that he bought in senior year for Blaine, and borrows a ski jacket from his dad which looks like it leapt right out of an episode of the Fresh Prince. Armed with snow shovels and thick gloves, Kurt shoots a glare at Blaine as they step outside the minute the cold air hits his face. His breath mists out in front of him, and Kurt buries his face in the collar of his jacket, hefts his shovel and starts excavating.

It’s hard work, and before long he works up a sweat under his jacket. His hat is the first thing to go, while Blaine stubbornly refuses to remove any of his layers as they methodically shovel the snow from the path. Every time Kurt catches a glance of Blaine’s face, it’s turned a darker shade of pink as he huffs away into his scarf.

It takes them three quarters of an hour to clear the path from the front door to the sidewalk. Kurt takes a break for a moment, leaning on his shovel as Blaine penguin shuffles back and forth through the untouched snow next to the hedge. It’s difficult to have any sort of conversation through ear warmers and jacket collars, so when Blaine finally stops stomping a heart into the fresh white powder Kurt just blows him a kiss.

Together, they move onto the driveway, building up a huge pile of snow on the grass in front of the house as the flakes start to fall again. Kurt sheds his scarf and Blaine his hat, and by the time Carole gets back from her errand run they’ve cleared enough space for one car, which she pulls into with an enthusiastic thumbs up.

Blaine, ever the gentleman, offers her his arm to get into the house. Carole laughs as she opens the trunk, hefting a bag of groceries. “I may be old, Blaine, but I’m not so old to be incapable of walking on snow.”

“Old?” Blaine fakes shock, “Mrs Hudson, you don’t look a day over thirty.”

“You married a charmer, Kurt!” Carole calls as she walks up towards the house. Kurt rolls his eyes at Blaine’s goofy grin. “Don’t I know it.”

They scrape the last half of the driveway clear, and by that point the pile of snow is almost hip height. Kurt’s so used to New York snow - grey and crusty after a day, sleet and ice after two - that the untouched white streets of Ohio are a little foreign to him. He looks over the quiet front yards of the rest of his street - some shovelled, some pristine - and feels a little pang of homesickness for their place at home. It’s pretty, but it’s just too quiet.

He glances up the driveway to Blaine. His husband is standing there, head tipped back as the snow drifts down around him, settling in his hair and on his eyelashes. Blaine puffs his cheeks out, blowing a plume of condensation into the air. His cheeks are rosy with cold, and he looks so beautiful that Kurt’s heart skips a beat or two or three, hammering away in his chest as he thanks his lucky stars that Blaine chose him. Only in his wildest dreams did he ever think he’d marry a literal Disney prince.

As if Blaine’s heard his thoughts he turns, smiling. “Done?”

“I think so.” Kurt plants his hands on his hips. “Dad can hire someone younger than me if he’s not happy.”

Blaine laughs. “C’mon then. Let’s go inside.”

Kurt turns to grab the snow shovel, and just as he bends down he hears the whisper of fabric on fabric and then cold explodes on the back of his neck.

Kurt yelps, seizing up as snow melts against his skin and trickles down his back. Slowly, he turns, eyes wide, to face his husband. Blaine’s standing there, another snowball held in his hands, grinning widely.

“You did not,” Kurt says, “Blaine Hummel, you did _not_.”

Before he can do anything, Blaine flings another snowball at him - Kurt ducks it, barely, and tosses the snow shovel aside, starting up the drive. “Blaine I swear to god -”

Blaine dances out of his way, laughing as Kurt makes a grab for him. “Okay I’ll stop - oh my god _wait_ I said I’ll stop -”

Kurt chases after him, grabbing a handful of snow for himself. Blaine shrieks as he gets pegged right in the ear, his face scrunching up in disgust. “Oh, Kurt, no, I hate it!”

“Should have thought of that before you started a fight!” Kurt shouts breathlessly, lunging for him again. Blaine digs his hand into the snow and just scoops it up and at Kurt, hitting him square in the face with a spray of powder. Kurt squawks, trying to blink it out of his eyes, and throws another snowball blindly. He hears it impact, and Blaine wails “No, my coat!”

“I’m gonna bury you in the damn snow, Blaine!” Kurt yells, watching his husband try and scale the pile of snow and ice cleared from the driveway as he frantically sculpts another snowball, “You have thirteen seconds to live!”

Blaine laughs, windmilling his arms to keep his balance. Kurt sees his opportunity and throws another snowball; Blaine sways to the side to avoid it and then loses his footing and trips directly down the pile towards him.

Kurt tries to brace himself but Blaine’s built up too much momentum, and they both go down like a lead balloon, sending up a spray of snow as they land. Kurt groans, his back taking most of the impact, and blinks the snow out of his eyes. “Ow.”

“Are you okay?” Blaine pushes himself upright, eyes wide, “Did I hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” Kurt rolls back and forth, milking it a little, “Ahh, my ribs.”

The second Blaine leans over him in concern, Kurt grabs a handful of snow, tugs Blaine’s jacket away from his body and stuffs it down his front.

Blaine screeches. “ _Kurt!_ Oh my god you’re the worst -”

“Now we’re even,” Kurt says breathlessly, “Truce?”

Blaine collapses into the snow next to him, breathing heavily. “I physically cannot move, so yes.”

Kurt laughs. “Let’s just let the snow take us. It’s comfortable at least.”

“Easy to say for you, you don’t have snow melting _on_ your nipples,” Blaine sits up, shivering, “Oh my god, I have to get out of these clothes right now.”

Kurt snorts. He’s about to lean over and kiss Blaine, and then all of a sudden he remembers - they’re not in New York, they’re in Ohio.

“Come on,” he says, offering out his hand instead, “I’ll make it up to you.”

“You better,” Blaine grumbles as they slowly climb to their feet, “You owe me hot cocoa. Or like, a foot massage.”

“How about both?” Kurt brushes some of the snow off Blaine’s jacket, “I’ll throw in a smooch if you’re lucky.”

“I don’t even think I need to ask for that,” Blaine says, and leans up to kiss him anyway.

His mouth is cold against Kurt’s, and for half a second Kurt gets that old surge of fear, that someone might say something -

But the street is empty, quiet and cloaked in snow, and there’s no one there to judge them. So Kurt holds his husband a little closer, and kisses him until his lips are warm again.


	14. negligence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> i do not even know.

“Surely we can sue someone for this,” Kurt says, placing another saucepan under the dripping light fixture, “This has to be illegal in some way.”

“I don’t think stupidity is against the law,” Blaine squints up at the ceiling, trying to pinpoint where the rest of the water is coming from, “But if it was, we’d probably have a pretty good case.”

Kurt huffs, skirting around the arrangement of receptacles on the floor of their hallways. “Remember when we said we were going to get an early night?”

“We could have if you just ignored that dripping noise,” Blaine points out, catching Kurt’s elbow so he doesn’t overbalance and spill even more water all over the floor. “We could have dealt with this in the morning.”

“If we left this until the morning we would have woken up floating.” Kurt pauses, looking over their hallway. “You think the super might pick up now if I call again?”

“Worth a try.” Blaine finally finds the last leak, dripping slowly onto the shoe rack. Groaning, he hauls the rack aside and places a mixing bowl beneath it.

“Hey, Siri?” he hears Kurt say from the kitchen, “Look up the definition of gross criminal negligence.”

Siri replies, too quietly for Blaine to hear her answer. He glances over the hallway one last time, hoping that the leak in the apartment above won’t spread any more during the night. They have renter’s insurance, but Blaine would rather not go through an extended claim ordeal right before the holidays.

Kurt’s voice carries through into the hallway again. “Hey, Siri, call our piece of shit super.”

 _“Calling Piece of Shit Super_ ,” Siri says obediently.

Blaine loops through the rest of the apartment to make sure there aren’t any more leaks. When he gets back into the kitchen, Kurt is standing there watching water drip into their fruit bowl.

“Great,” Blaine says.

“He said he just turned off the water so it’ll stop any moment.” Kurt indicates the leak. “I’m waiting for that moment.”

“I don’t think it’s coming, sweetie,” Blaine slides past him and starts removing the apples, “I think this might just be our lives now.”

“Remember when we thought being adults was going to be so much fun?” Kurt asks, “Remember when we thought having an apartment to ourselves was great? If we were still in the loft we could bail and leave this to Rachel to sort out.”

“I also remember having to schedule sex sessions around our roommates because otherwise we ran the risk of getting put on Rachel’s youtube channel,” Blaine grabs his husband’s arm and tugs, “Do you want to go back to that?”

“You have a point,” Kurt sighs, “The super said he’ll be around tomorrow to assess the damage.”

“Then let’s get some sleep while we still can,” Blaine says diplomatically, and leads Kurt back to bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> can someone explain to me what the fuck is going on with the prompts this year do you WANT me to write one of the boys being arrested for negligent homicide??? the fuck????


	15. orange

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blaine maybe has too many bowties

It’s when Kurt goes to put a shirt away in their wardrobe and physically cannot fit the hanger on the rail because of the number of tie organisers that he decides it’s time to sort through Blaine’s collection.

“But I wear them all!” Blaine protests, arms folded as Kurt deposits the five discrete organisers on the bed, “This is entirely uncalled for.”

“Blaine.” Kurt puts his hands on his hips. “You have, like, sixty bowties. Remember how I told you you had to stop buying red polo shirts?”

“Are you banning me from buying bowties?” There’s a look of sheer horror in Blaine’s eyes.

“What? No, of course not.” Kurt gets up to lead Blaine over to the bed, otherwise he has a feeling his husband will just stand in the corner staring at him like Kurt’s set the place on fire. “I’m just saying that maybe it’s time to go through them, cut out the ones you don’t like any more, and donate them to a good cause.”

“I’m a good cause,” Blaine says sadly. Kurt feels himself starting to waver, and takes a moment to remind himself of the very chic button up which has been banished to a storage box until he can fit it in the wardrobe.

“We’ll just go through them one by one,” he says in a placatory tone of voice, “Right? Like this one.” Kurt picks up a green checked one that he doesn’t think he’s seen Blaine wear in years.

“I guess.” Blaine’s arms are still folded and he still has that kicked puppy look in his eyes. “We can throw that one out.”

“How about this one?” Kurt lifts one striped in grey, black, red and white. “This one’s kind of old, the threads are coming loose.”

“ _ Absolutely _ not,” Blaine snatches it away from him, holding it tight, “Don’t you remember the first time you saw me wear this?”

“I - no?”

“I bought this bowtie for my first day at McKinley,” Blaine’s big sad eyes bore into Kurt’s, “You don’t remember?”

Kurt’s suddenly transported back ten years to seeing Blaine saunter confidently down the hallways, those stupid yellow sunglasses tucked into his pocket. It’s such a hit of nostalgia that he almost tears up. “Okay, we can keep that one. Put it back on the organiser.”

Blaine gently rehangs the bowtie. “Okay. which one next?”

Kurt picks up one that’s bright orange, patterned with little bats. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear this.”

“I have!” Blaine looks insulted, “Remember when we accidentally scheduled a date night for Friday the thirteenth and got caught making out in the elevator to the loft and then got caught having sex  _ in _ the loft? I wore it then.”

Kurt does actually remember that. They waited half an hour in the cold to get into the restaurant because Kurt forgot to make a reservation, Blaine had a minor reaction to the shellfish in his pasta, and when they finally got home Rachel threw back the curtains just as Kurt was about to get to third base. He distinctly recalls fumbling the stupid orange bowtie out of the way so he could get at Blaine’s throat.

“Okay,” he hands that one back to Blaine, “Keep that one too.” The memory is just too funny to throw away.

The next one Blaine reminisces on how they went on a date and he told a stupid joke and Kurt spat grape juice on the bowtie and spent nearly a week trying to get it out. Kurt looks down at the pristine cream bowtie and hands it back to Blaine. He can’t in good conscious waste all of his past selves time by throwing the bowtie away.

For the next one Kurt remembers taking a photo of Blaine flashing his engagement ring at the top of the Empire State Building wearing it and puts it back on the organiser himself while looking through his phone for the photo. The one after that Blaine recounts how they had bought it together on their first ever shopping trip as a couple. The next one Blaine tries to throw out, but Kurt snatches it back, so clearly remembering Blaine’s charged gaze as Kurt talked about having relations with Taylor Lautner in senior year, and now desperately he’d wanted to rip the bowtie and everything else off and have Blaine right there, lilac fields be damned.

It kind of just keeps going on like that, until they reach the end of the fifth organiser and look at the pathetic pile of bow ties to be thrown away. There’s exactly six; the green checked one, an extremely ugly yellow corduroy one that Blaine doesn’t even remember acquiring, one patterned with the Australian flag after Pam went there on a cruise, and three plain block colour ones that he already has nicer versions of.

“Well,” Blaine says, “We got rid of some.”

Kurt has his head in his hands. “I can’t believe it. Six?”

“I think that’s pretty good!” Blaine hops off the bed to return the full organisers to the closet, “That’s at least a ten percent decrease.”

“I’m a fraud,” Kurt mumbles into his palms. He feels the bed sink as Blaine sits down next to him. “You have too much power over me.”

“I think we’re both just sentimental,” Blaine prises his hands away so he can kiss Kurt on the cheek, “Anyway, I have an idea for a hail mary for these brave soldiers before they venture out into the unknown.”

“Oh?” Kurt looks up, “Is it to hang them out of the window so everyone in the city knows that I’m completely and utterly whipped?”

“No,” Blaine bats his eyes, “I was thinking more like we see how much of a battering the headboard can take. We can even use some of that lilac room spray, really set the mood.”

He rubs the cheap nylon bowtie with the Australian flag on it over Kurt’s cheek, wiggling his eyebrows. Somehow, even holding the second ugliest bowtie in the world in his hands, Blaine manages to make it sensual.

“Testing the tensile strength of these bowties, right.” Kurt gently pushes Blaine down onto the bed, “Very smart. I like the way you think.”

“I just want to have sex,” Blaine says, eyebrows drawn together, “I don’t want to rip my bowties up -”

“I  _ know _ , Blaine, I was playing along,” Kurt’s head falls heavily against Blaine’s shoulder as he tries not to laugh, “Oh my god, you’re so -”

Blaine kisses him to shut him up.

As their clothes (and the bowties) get pushed onto the floor, Kurt glances at the wardrobe - no less full - and thinks  _ fuck it, I’ll just buy a garment rail. _


	16. pledge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> im fully of the opinion that if kurt and blaine weren't off their heads on newly got back together hormones they would never have gotten married in a BARN

“You think we should renew our vows?”

Blaine, comfortable squeezed between Kurt and the back of the couch, glances up from catching butterflies in Pocket Camp. “What?”

“Our vows.” Kurt’s pouring over his issue of Cosmo, “Should we renew them?”

“We’ve only been married for six months,” Blaine points out, “Isn’t that a little early? To renew vows?”

“Maybe.” Kurt sounds unconvinced. Blaine cranes his neck to read the article Kurt’s so engaged in. It’s depicting - in a very extravagant double page spread - Hugh Jackman and Deborra-Lee Furness’ vow renewal ceremony. “But seeing as our wedding was a very impromptu affair, I feel like we could probably get away with it.”

Blaine _hmms_ quietly. Of course, he’s ecstatic that they’re married, but he won’t lie that he did imagine it going down a little different than it did in real life. Mostly, he can’t really get over the fact that they did in fact get married in a barn in the middle of Ohio.

“First of all, we wouldn’t be in a barn,” Kurt says, “And second of all, I wouldn’t be wearing camo.”

“Your suit was great!” Blaine says immediately, because it _was_.

“It was a great suit, but not for a wedding,” Kurt’s hand rests on his head, petting reassuringly, “I had plans, Blaine, big plans.”

“Do you regret it?” Blaine asks, suddenly nervous. Kurt nearly upends him over the back of the couch he sits up so fast. “Are you kidding? Are you joking Blaine? Do I regret it? I don’t regret a damn thing the only _possible_ regret I could _ever_ have is that we didn’t get married sooner -”

Blaine wriggles back into his comfortable spot, patting Kurt’s chest gently to calm him down. “Okay, okay, I’m just checking.”

Kurt leans back against the arm of the couch, huffing. “As if I could ever regret marrying you. I do wish it hadn’t been in a barn though.”

“Me too,” Blaine agrees.

“But seriously,” Kurt closes Cosmo, “Would you want to do that? Renew vows?”

“Are you asking me if I want to pledge to love and support you until the end of my days again?” Blaine turns his head, fixing Kurt with a baleful glare, “Do you even know me?”

“You did just ask me why we would have a vow renewal six months after our marriage ceremony.”

“I said it might be a little early, not that I didn’t want to.” Blaine opens a new note on his phone, “What kind of theme are you thinking?”

“Well.” Kurt’s fingers sink back into Blaine’s hair. “I was thinking, you know, this could be like our actual wedding. We could invite more of our families than just our parents.”

“Maybe not Cooper,” Blaine says, and Kurt tugs a curl gently. “Hey, come on, you know he wanted to be there. We’ll give him a small role in the wedding party. He can be the ring boy.”

Blaine laughs. “He’d lose them, Kurt, you know that.”

“We can give him duds.” Kurt reaches down and takes Blaine’s left hand, “I like these rings, but I can’t really get over the fact that Sue picked them out for us.”

“Ooh!” Blaine sits up, suddenly excited, “We could set up a registry! We could ask for a waffle maker!”

“You’re so smart,” Kurt’s already pulling up his Amazon wishlist, “We need a new knife block as well, right?”

“And we could go on another honeymoon,” Blaine nudges his shoulder against Kurt’s, “Provincetown was great, but I still think our two weeks in Paris would have been way better.”

“You really think you have to persuade me to go on a second honeymoon with you?” Kurt pulls Blaine’s head to the side so he can press a kiss to his temple, “You know I’d follow you anywhere.”

“I can’t believe I ever doubted you,” Blaine leans over Kurt’s torso and grabs his laptop, “What are we thinking for venues, a country house? Music hall? Boat?”

“As long as there’s not a bale of straw within a mile radius, I don’t care,” Kurt says, “My list of demands are short and sweet.”

There’s a beat of silence as Blaine turns, one eyebrow raised. Kurt closes his eyes. “Okay. Maybe it’s not short and sweet. Maybe it’s very long and specific, but the bales of straw are high on this list.”

“Wouldn’t have you any other way,” Blaine says, and kisses his cheek.


	17. quantity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kurt's drunk and thinking about love at 3am.

It’s 3am and they’re on the subway, taking the A train home after a night out with Rachel and Santana. Blaine’s leaning up against Kurt, thumbing through Twitter, playing music into the headphones they’re sharing to help the time pass. The car is empty apart from them, and Kurt stares out the window into the darkness rushing past outside as Carly Rae Jepsen shuffles to Red Velvet shuffles to Troye Sivan.

Blaine’s side presses up against his every time the train rocks, his head nodding back and forth on Kurt’s shoulder. He smells like citrus, probably from the sheer quantity of tequila shots that were being done around them, but also maybe just because he changed aftershave recently. Troye Sivan shuffles off, and the familiar see-sawing opening riff of the next song reminds him of the title before the first line is out.

 _To be young and in love in New York City,_ Lauv sings in his ear. Kurt watches their reflection in the dirty windows of the subway car. Blaine’s eyes are on his phone, but his body curves against Kurt’s, comfortable despite the plastic ridge that separates their seats. He glances down, past where Blaine’s backpack is slung over his knee so it doesn’t touch the floor, to the golden band on his fourth finger.

 _To not know who I am but still know that I’m good long as you’re here with me_.

Kurt feels a smile tug at his lips at the lyrics. Moving back in together after getting married was a big step that neither of them were sure they were ready for, especially Blaine making the jump back to New York and to NYU. Kurt’s forging out into the world as a graduate, suddenly not sure that musical theatre is his calling as he succeeds at Vogue, but the unknown is a hell of a lot less scary with Blaine at his side.

 _To be drunk and in love in New York City_ , the song continues, and Kurt actually does smile in spite of himself. He _is_ drunk, and he’s doing this deep introspective dive into their relationship because of an indie song at 3am on the A line. It’s ridiculous, but it’s their special kind of ridiculous, the kind that makes him sappy and lovestruck when the rest of the world wants to make him cold and jaded.

 _I like me better when I’m with you_.

Blaine is so _good_ , so innately kind and generous, that it reminds Kurt to be kind and generous too. It’s trite and clichéd, but he is better with Blaine. His husband’s like this bubble of safety that Kurt can retreat to whenever the outside world gets a little too much, that recharges him to go back out and just be _kind_. And Kurt - he hopes that he’s the same to Blaine. He hopes that his good qualities - and he knows he has them, or Blaine wouldn’t have married him - lend the same strength to Blaine, provide the same refuge. If Kurt could do that, he thinks, he’d die happy.

_I knew from the first time, I’d stay for a long time._

Blaine’s right hand rests on Kurt’s knee, his thumbnail running up and down the seam on the outside of the leg of his jeans. Kurt slips his hand under Blaine’s, curling their fingers together. The future is uncertain, sure, but in every scenario Kurt pictures there’s one constant. Whether they’re broke in a shitty apartment in Brooklyn or rich in a penthouse in Manhattan, they’re together. They have their whole lives ahead of them, and they’re going to spend it together.

 _I like me better when I’m with you_.

Kurt blinks a couple times, realising he’s teared up. His heart is overfull with love and anticipation and excitement, all of it centered around the man sitting next to him, retweeting photos of baby animals with his head on Kurt’s shoulder.

As if he’s psychic, Blaine looks up from his phone. His hair - once styled with liberal amounts of hairspray - has become messy from the dancing and from Kurt’s own fingers tugging at it. He tilts his head, brows drawing together. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Kurt lifts their joined hands to his lips and kisses Blaine’s ring, “I just love you.”

A smile breaks across Blaine’s face a the sunrise on a rainy morning. Like always, Kurt’s heart skips a beat. “I love you too.”

Blaine rests his head on Kurt’s shoulder again, returns to scrolling through Twitter. The song keeps playing as the train moves on through the night, towards home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so kyle hanagami uploaded a choreo vid to the song (i like me better by lauv) and i listened to it for the first time and was like Uhhhh Yeah That's Klaine! and decided i would write something about it for today's advent. the prompt could have been watermelon and i would have found a way to make it work. and yes i did write songfic in 2018.


	18. realism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> domestic married fluff like everything ELSE in the world that i write

When Kurt slides into bed that evening, freshly exfoliated and moisturised and ready to get down and dirty with his husband, he finds Blaine mostly nude on the bed with his laptop precariously balanced on his thighs, tapping at his keyboard.

“Did I miss something?” Kurt peers over his shoulder, “Did you decide against our plans for this evening?”

“No,” Blaine says, even though he’s very much doing something else, “I’m just trying to figure out what I want to take next semester.”

Kurt checks the date in the corner of Blaine’s screen. It is, as he recalled, early September.

“It’s early September,” he says helpfully, “Surely you can pick those later.”

“I want to get a head start.” Blaine alt-tabs over onto a word document titled _potentials_ which has a list of no less than twenty courses. “It’s pretty competitive when it comes to some of these.”

Kurt squints at the screen. “Honey, somehow I doubt there’s a huge demand for classes like _realism in writing and acting on stage._ ”

“No, but there probably is for Songwriting 101.” Blaine copy-pastes another summary into the list, “Ooh, or Music in New York.”

Kurt leans against Blaine’s side, watching the classes scroll by. “Oh, hey, what about that one? Feminism and Queer Theory?”

“You want me to get even more preachy than I already am?” Blaine side-eyes him, “Are you sure about that?”

“I love it when you’re preachy,” Kurt kisses his shoulder, “You know I do.”

“I know you think it’s hot when I tell Rachel she’s being ignorant when she calls you her best gay.”

“I do think it’s hot,” Kurt murmurs against Blaine’s skin, “You just scrolled past one on disco.”

“Did I?” Blaine drags his fingers down the touchpad to scroll back up and Kurt finds himself watching Blaine’s hands move. He has great hands.

“Oh yeah.” Blaine hums. “There’s so much more than at NYADA, it’s pretty cool.”

“It is pretty cool,” Kurt agrees, still watching Blaine’s hands flex and move as he types.

“A really nice range of classes, you know?”

“Mm.” Kurt’s mind begins to wander to all the places Blaine _could_ be touching at that moment.

“I could write an entire essay on how I’m just like the purple people eater.”

“You could,” Kurt mumbles, and then replays the sentence in his head. “Wait a second -”

Blaine laughs, shutting his laptop. “You seem a little distracted.”

“Well, I thought we had plans this evening,” Kurt eyes up Blaine’s briefs, “But we can keep looking at classes if you want.”

“I was just wasting time until you got back to me,” Blaine hops out of bed and places his laptop on the dresser, “But now I’m all yours.” He shoots Kurt a coy smile.

“Oh, yeah,” Kurt grins as Blaine saunters back across the room, giving him the definition of bedroom eyes as he sways his hips, “Talk preachy to me, babe.”

Blaine snorts. “Stop it.”

“I do find it hot when you tell Rachel she’s wrong though,” Kurt reaches for Blaine’s hand, tugging him down onto the bed. “Really gets my motor revving when you remind her that she’s not actually part of the LGBT community.”

Blaine laughs, smacking Kurt on the shoulder, “You’re awful.”

“And you married me to balance it out,” Kurt tucks his thumbs into the back of Blaine’s briefs, “Right?”

“If that’s what makes you happy,” Blaine murmurs, and kisses him before Kurt can reply.


	19. stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> you already know

Blaine’s IKEA desk is laying half-constructed on the floor of his room, dismissed in exchange for the pre-assembled bed and youtube videos on his laptop. What had been a five minute break from trying to attach the legs has now become them cuddling on the bed under the sheets, talking as a playlist of Blaine’s favourite classical pieces plays faintly from his speakers. The little heater in the corner of the room isn’t doing much to keep them warm, so Blaine’s thick comforter is picking up the slack instead.

“Are you hungry?” Blaine looks at his watch under the covers, “We could raid the fridge and see if there’s any of that cheese platter Sam bought left over.”

“I’m pretty sure I should leave soon,” Kurt says softly as he runs his hand up and down Blaine’s bicep, “Even though a cheese platter does sound good.”

“You have to go?” Blaine tries not to pout, but he’s unsuccessful.

“I said I’d go out thrift shopping with Rachel tomorrow at nine,” Kurt murmurs, “Unfortunately.”

“I see how it is,” Blaine sighs dramatically, “Bros before hoes.”

“Don’t say that!” Kurt says indignantly, “You’re not my hoe.”

“Sisters before misters,” Blaine grins, then yelps as Kurt smacks him with a pillow, pulling the comforter over his head for protection. “Ow! No fair!”

“I’ll show you no fair,” Kurt mumbles, followed by “Oh shit, we never finished your desk.”

“Oh yeah,” Blaine pokes his head out, “Well, I’m sure I can get Sam to help me finish it.”

Kurt _hmms_ quietly, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I probably could stay a little while longer. There’s another train scheduled at eleven.”

“No, it’s okay if you have to go.” Blaine reaches out and tugs Kurt’s sweater, “I love you.”

Kurt turns and smiles, brushing the back of his hand over Blaine’s cheek. “I don’t want to go, but I might have to.”

“Rachel can go thrifting by herself,” Blaine suggests, always down to enable his boyfriend to stick around, “We could meet her at ten, get brunch on the way there.”

“Mm,” Kurt tilts his head, “Maybe.”

“We can stop at the diner down the road,” Blaine wheedles, “The one with that pie you like.”

“You’re so terrible,” Kurt mutters, “We’re definitely not getting up on time for that, and you know it.”

“If we went to bed right now we might.” Blaine wiggles his eyebrows, “Right? Right?”

“Oh, fine.” Kurt falls back onto the bed and Blaine cackles, victorious. “You’re the worst.”

“I can’t help it,” Blaine grins up at him, “I love you.”

“Lucky I love you too, then,” Kurt says with an eyeroll, and joins him under the covers again.


	20. transaction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blaine has the hots for an idiot.

Kurt has no idea what he’s doing in this place. When Santana casually mentioned that she wanted a new vibrator while they were out Christmas shopping, he had assumed she’d leave him outside the store (aptly named _Sinsation_ ). Unfortunately, when he voiced this, she gave him a _look_ and before he knew it he charged head first into a display of edible underwear to prove that he was _not_ a prude.

So now he’s standing in front of a display of butt plugs, eyes on his feet, as Santana debates the effectiveness of different vibrators out loud. Kurt shuffles back to let someone squeeze past in the ridiculously small aisles, and feels something furry brush his elbow. He refuses to turn around and look at what it is.

“I don’t know if I want another rabbit or if I want to branch out with something a little different,” she muses, “What do you think? Rabbit vibe or realistic?”

Kurt glances up and is surprised by a bright pink eight inch long jelly dick flopping about in its packaging right in front of his nose. He tries not to recoil, but doesn’t succeed.

“That’s realistic?” Kurt cringes out of the way as Santana waves it back and forth unhelpfully, “Santana, you know that’s a lie, right?”

“I know my way around a dick, Hummel,” Santana slings it back on the shelf, the other vibrator tucked under her arm, “Do you?”

“Probably better than you,” Kurt says under his breath. Santana hums. “What was that?”

“Nothing.” Kurt looks back down at his feet, “Are you happy? You have your toy? Can we leave now?”

“One sec, I want nipple clamps,” Santana says, and starts down the aisle. Kurt follows her, eyes still on his feet, and as he turns the corner to keep up with her he walks directly into someone.

“Oh my god I’m so sorry,” he says immediately, hands flying up to catch the poor individual. When his fingers meet cold plastic, he looks up at his collision buddy and meets the cold, unseeing eyes of a mannequin with a ball gag strapped against his plastic mouth.

Kurt makes a sound like a kettle whistling, fumbling to shove the mannequin back onto its display. When he finally gets it stable he turns to make sure nobody saw and meets the eyes of the employees stood behind the cash desk.

Kurt immediately dives into the next aisle to avoid confrontation, blood rushing to his face. He stands in front of a display of different flavoured lubes, pretending to read the labels in the hopes that the employee won’t come and confront him about his accidental groping of their plastic dummy. He’s there for at least a few minutes when Santana finally locates him, vibrator in one hand and a shiny new set of nipple clamps in the other.

“Found something?” she asks, smirking. Kurt sniffs. “I’m fine, thank you.”

She laughs. “I knew you’d chicken out the second we walked in. You are _such_ a prude, Kurt.”

“I’m not!” Kurt says indignantly, “I’m just not - not used to shops like these.”

“You should get used to them,” Santana pats him on the shoulder, “You’ll want to spice it up in the bedroom sometime.”

Kurt rolls his eyes. “Are we done here?”

“We’re not done until you buy something,” Santana gives him a wicked smile, “I saw you grope that mannequin. It’s been a dry spell, huh?”

Kurt could argue with her, but he’d rather not make a bigger scene than he already has. Instead, he snatches a box of condoms off the shelf. “Is this enough for you?”

“Baby steps,” she pats him on the arm, “Let’s go, buttercup.”

Kurt lets her escort him up to the front, the box of condoms held so tight in his grip that the cardboard starts to buckle. The guy who witnessed him walk into and apologise to the dummy smiles as they approach, and Kurt is struck by how cute he is. He’s wearing a surprisingly preppy outfit for a guy who works in a sex shop, his red polo offset by a dark blue bowtie.

“Hey, Santana!” he says brightly, “Good to see you again!”

“Blaine,” Santana says, and her smile has become sharklike, “This is my friend, Kurt. Kurt, meet Blaine. He helps me pick out strap ons every now and again.”

“Always happy to help.” Blaine winks, and Kurt’s knees actually go a little weak. “Hi,” he says, mouth suddenly dry.

“My last vibe died,” Santana says, dumping her armful of epicurean novelty onto the counter, “I brought my tall virgin friend to pick up a new one.” To Kurt (who is still processing the ‘tall virgin’ comment) she says, “Blaine and I met at the gay bar off west twenty second street. You know, the one I keep telling you to come to?”

“Sure,” Kurt says faintly, staring helplessly at this Blaine guy. He has huge brown eyes, combined with the longest lashes he’s ever seen on a guy. Kurt feels the need to assert that he’s not actually a virgin, but before he can Blaine makes eye contact and gives him a sunny smile, which leaves him speechless again.

He chats to Santana as he rings her up, and Kurt can’t stop staring at his stupidly plump lips and the cute bump on the bridge of his nose. When he shakes out a paper bag for her to carry her vibrator and nipple clamps, Kurt’s struck by how his biceps fill out the sleeves of his polo shirt so nicely.

“Kurt?” Santana prompts, “Are you gonna shoplift in front of my friend right now?”

Kurt realises he’s still holding the box of condoms. He almost starts backing away, because he doesn’t actually need them, and then he remembers Santana’s tall virgin comment and gets a fresh wave of confidence.

“Just these,” he says, placing them onto the counter. Blaine smiles at him. “Great choice!”

 _What the fuck does that mean?_ Kurt thinks, and just ends up smiling inanely as Blaine rings them up and hands them back. The transaction completed, Kurt prepares himself to leave without any further incident.

And then Blaine says, “Enjoy!”

And Kurt replies, “You too!”

There’s a beat where Blaine’s eyes widen imperceptibly, and then Kurt turns on his heel and bolts out of the shop before he bursts into flame from embarrassment.

When Santana joins him a few moments later, he’s frantically stuffing the box of condoms into his bag with his face on fire. “We are never going in there again,” he says urgently, grabbing her arm. “Santana, promise me you’ll never take me there again.”

“That was worse than I thought,” she pats his shoulder, “I didn’t even think Blaine was your type or I would have forced you to buy something far more incriminating than some Durex.”

“He’s perfect,” Kurt says faintly, “And I can never see him again. I groped a mannequin in front of him, Santana.”

“I’m pretty sure he likes idiots,” she links arms with him as they make their way down the street, “He was giving you some pretty big heart eyes on the way out.”

“Really?” Kurt’s heart skips a beat, “Should I go back?”

“Oh, absolutely not,” she grins, “But you could accompany me to that gay bar on Saturday night, because he’ll probably be there.”

“Was this all just a long con to get me to go out with you again?” Kurt asks, and she snorts. “More like a long con to get your dick wet, Hummel.”

“I can always depend on you,” Kurt says weakly, his heart rate only just starting to slow. She pats his arm gently. “Don’t you know it. Wingwoman of the year: Santana Lopez.”

“Okay, don’t go too far,” Kurt chides, and she throws her head back in a laugh. “Just trust me. He’s got the hots for you, I can feel it.”

 _God I hope so_ , Kurt thinks, and crosses his fingers in his pocket.


	21. understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> turns out neither kurt nor blaine can do basic maths.

Blaine’s standing over the sink, half-listening to Kurt and Joy work through a math sheet at the kitchen table as he washes the dishes. It’s the first moment of the day where none of his family are trying to get his attention, and he’s enjoying it. Maeve is napping on Kurt’s shoulder after not seeing him all day, Joy is showing off her new workbook, and Pepper is scarfing down her food in the corner of the room.

“I don’t get this one,” he hears Joy say, combined with the shuffling of paper, “Do you, Daddy?”

“Which one?” Blaine hears Kurt’s chair scrape on the kitchen floor as he props the last plates on the drying rack. “Oh, long division? No problem, sweetie, I can help.”

“Long division?” Blaine repeats, drying his hands, “You sure about that, Kurt?”

“We learned that in elementary school,” Kurt says confidently, “Okay, so how you do this is, you have to, uh…”

Blaine turns to watch this happen. Kurt’s lips move silently as he taps his fingers against the paper, brows drawn together. Next to him, Joy watches expectantly, chewing on the tip of her pencil.

“Okay,” Kurt twirls a second pencil between his fingers, “So first what you have to do is set up the division, right? So you put the… you put the little number under the roof, and you put the big number next to it.”

“Miss Jones said it was the other way,” Joy says, pointing at the sheet. Kurt nods. “Right, right. See, I was testing you there, and you passed! Good job!”

Joy gives him a side eye. Blaine hides a smile behind his hand.

“So you take… this one, and you…” Kurt’s only half-forming sentences as he begins to scribble things down. Joy’s expression is becoming more and more skeptical. “Carry the one… bundle, what’s thirty over five?”

Joy wrinkles her nose for a moment and then says, “Six?”

“Sounds good,” Kurt writes something else down, then smiles triumphantly. “Okay! Blaine, confirm my answer for me please.”

Obligingly, Blaine circles around his husband with his phone in hand and divides 360 by 7.

“Fifty-one point seven,” he reads aloud, and Joy says with glee, “You got it wrong, Daddy!”

“What?” Kurt sounds incredulous, “Let me see, Blaine.”

Blaine hands his phone over, sharing an amused glance with Joy. Leaning over the back of Kurt’s chair, he watches him compare the two answers. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Here, let me try,” Blaine kisses the top of Kurt’s head, “I did AP Algebra, after all.”

“Whatever,” Kurt snipes gently, getting up and propping Maeve on his hip, “Let’s see how you do it, Blaine Einstein.”

Blaine shakes his head as he erases Kurt’s answer, staring at the question. After a few seconds of wracking his brain, he realises that he has no idea how to do long division.

“Daddy?” Joy prompts, “Are you okay?”

“Just thinking,” Blaine says, determined not to give any hint to Kurt that he has no clue what he’s doing. He has the vague memory of decimal places and remainders, but nothing else comes to him. Finally, he gives up.

“I think we might have made a mistake by both going into the arts,” he says eventually, placing the pencil down, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”

“I knew it!” Kurt cackles, “At least I tried! Kurt wins this round, baby.”

Blaine rolls his eyes so hard it hurts. “You wrote some numbers down, doesn’t mean you won. Sorry, bundle, looks like your daddies can’t help with this one.”

Joy is starting to look a little distressed. “Then how am I s’posed to do my homework?”

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Blaine puts an arm around her, “I’ll call up Auntie Brittany tomorrow and she can help, okay?”

“Okay,” she perks up at the thought of getting to call her favourite eccentric aunt, “Can I go watch TV now?”

“Sure, sweets,” Blaine kisses her temple, “Bath time in twenty minutes, okay?”

“Okay!” Joy hops off her chair and bounces away onto the couch, grabbing Blaine’s tablet on her way.

“Well,” Kurt says, “I’m sufficiently sobered by our apparent inability to do basic math.”

Blaine laughs, getting up and stretching. “We were both theatre students, Kurt, what did you expect?”

“Some actors are smart,” Kurt says mournfully, “I guess we missed the boat.”

“I think we’ll survive,” Blaine bobs up on his toes and kisses Kurt, “Mimi’s going to be able to recite the complete works of Shakespeare by the time she’s five.”

“But she won’t be able to add,” Kurt traces a fake tear down his face, “I’m going to put Mimi down. Pour me some wine to mourn my high school math grades.”

“Anything for you.” Blaine winks, and blows him another kiss.


	22. vegetarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hungover musings on new year's day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL THOUGHT I WAS GONNA LEAVE AN ADVENT UNFINISHED? THINK AGAIN. two new chapters coming soon

Hungover and sleep deprived on New Year/s Day, Kurt’s scrolling through UberEats at the kitchen table, trying to find somewhere that’ll deliver an adequately greasy brunch for them. Blaine’s sat opposite him, nursing a cup of coffee with his forehead pressed against the cool linoleum tabletop.

“You want bagels?” he asks. Blaine groans. “ _Quieter, please._ ”

“Sorry,” Kurt whispers, “Bagels?”

“No,” Blaine pushes himself up, bleary-eyed, “I want fruit. I need to reset my body.”

“I want an McMuffin,” Kurt’s mouth is watering at the thought, “And fries. Oh my god, a huge portion of fries.”

Blaine whines. Kurt reaches across the table and pats his head gently. “You want fruit? I think iHop delivers on DoorDash.”

Blaine whines louder. “Mmm…”

“French toast?” Kurt scratches his fingers through Blaine’s hair, “Pancakes?”

“Oh god,” Blaine lifts his head, “I need pancakes. I need a huge stack of pancakes and a _big_ bowl of fruit.”

“Got it.” Kurt thought he drank pretty heavily last night, but Blaine obviously outdid him. Now his husband has mentioned fruit, the thought of eating a sausage and egg mcmuffin and a side of fries is sitting heavy in his stomach. “I think I’ll join you.”

Blaine mumbles something inaudible into his folded arms. Kurt tugs a curl gently. “What was that?”

“I said you don’t want the McMuffin?”

“The thought of all that meat is actually making me feel kind of sick,” Kurt keeps massaging circles into Blaine’s scalp, “I think I might be getting old.”

“We’re only twenty-seven,” Blaine’s pushing his head against Kurt’s hand every time he pauses, like a very hungover cat, “Not too old.”

“Old enough to have to stop eating garbage every time I’m hungover,” Kurt murmurs, switching apps. The more he thinks about it, the more a stack of pancakes sounds exactly like what he needs.

“I think pancakes count as garbage,” Blaine replies, practically purring as Kurt scratches behind his ear.

“We have fruit on it, so I think we’re okay,” Kurt yawns as he places the order, then tosses his phone aside, “Fruit is healthy, right?”

“Does it count as fruit if it’s soaked in syrup?” Blaine asks, “I think that much sugar should make a difference -”

“Shhh,” Kurt interrupts, “It’s New Year’s Day. We can analyse our diets tomorrow.”

“Remember how we were going to eat healthy in the new year?” Blaine lifts his head to take another sip of coffee, “How we were going to try being vegetarian for a bit? Go paleo?”

“The new year doesn’t really start until January second,” Kurt says confidently, “January first is national hangover day.”

“Thank god,” Blaine stands up, groaning like he’s an old man, “I’m gonna take a nap until food gets here.”

“Hey,” Kurt calls, then immediately regrets it as his own voice makes his head throb. Blaine flinches too, but turns.

“Happy new year.” Kurt blows him a kiss.

Blaine catches it, presses his palm against his heart, and smiles. “Always happy with you.”


	23. wire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> spy husbands run into a roadbump.

The moment the car comes to a stop in the parking lot Blaine’s out of the doors, feet pounding against the tarmac as he runs for the emergency room doors. The place is flooded with police, leaning up against walls and seated on tables, but Blaine moves past them even as they try to get his attention, nearly running into someone as he reaches the receptionist desk.

“Kurt Hummel,” he says breathlessly, hands trembling, “He was admitted an hour ago. I need to see him.”

“Are you -”

Before she can ask him for identification he flips his badge open. She takes a moment to read it, notices the three letters stamped across his chest in white, and checks her computer screen. Blaine wants to scream at her to hurry up, but only a few seconds later she points at a set of doors and says “First left.”

“Thank you,” Blaine gasps, and follows her directions. He shoves through the double doors and immediately turns left, heart hammering in his chest as he enters a ward filled with chaos.

And then he sees a familiar high ponytail threaded through the back of a baseball cap. Santana’s half-in half-out of a cubicle, talking on her phone, and Blaine catches her eye as she down the corridor.

Blaine’s knees nearly buckle at the sight of doctors moving in and out of the cubicle, but somehow he makes it down the hallway and finally, _finally,_ sees Kurt.

He’s leaning back in the bed, one arm strapped over his chest as he speaks to a doctor, and Blaine gasps in relief at seeing his husband alive. He staggers forward, braces himself on the end of the bed, and Kurt’s eyes flash sideways and then widen.

“I can explain,” he says, lifting his spare hand, and Blaine hisses, “ _Kurt Hummel you scared the living daylights out of me!_ ”

Before Kurt can start to explain - and Blaine couldn’t care less how he got injured, just that he’s okay - he rushes forwards and throws his arms around Kurt. His hair is gritty with dirt and he smells like unwashed bulletproof vest, but Blaine doesn’t care.

“Ow,” Kurt says faintly, “Blaine, sweetie, I’m delicate.”

“What happened?” Blaine leans back, taking in Kurt’s appearance. He has a graze on his forehead and a bruise coming up on his cheekbone, but otherwise his face is mercifully untouched.

“I botched a tackle.” Kurt actually looks a little embarrassed. “Landed heavy on my shoulder and dislocated it.”

“Why on earth were you tackling someone?” Blaine says incredulously, “I thought you were hanging behind.”

“Turns out the Weasel is pretty weaselly,” Kurt grins at him, “He tried to make a break for it and I decided to stop him.”

“And why did you go dark on comms?” Now the relief has set in Blaine’s ready to start the interrogation as to why Kurt never told anyone he was okay. Hearing his husband’s voice get cut off mid sentence and never come back on was terrifying.

“Oh.” Kurt reaches and pulls his earpiece off, revealing the frayed wire trailing into his shirt, “That was a bullet.”

“ _A what?_ ” Blaine’s voice jumps up an octave. “ _A bullet?_ ”

Kurt smiles nervously. “I only took one to the vest.”

“Only one to the -”

“And I only cracked one rib,” Kurt says, still with that optimistic smile, “So it could be worse!”

Blaine pinches the bridge of his nose and takes several deep breaths to calm himself. _It could be worse_ , he repeats in his head, _it could be worse._

“Sweetie?”

Kurt strokes down Blaine’s shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. Blaine takes his hand, folding it between both of his, and says, “Did you get him?”

Kurt’s concerned expression melts into a proud grin. “You know we did.”

Blaine shakes his head. “If you ever scare me like that again, I’m requesting a transfer to white collar crime so I can be on your ass next time.”

“You can be on my ass any day,” Kurt murmurs, one eyebrow arching. Blaine nearly smacks him lightly on the shoulder, but holds himself back at the last moment realising that it’s the shoulder Kurt dislocated. “Watch your mouth or I’ll call HR on you.”

Kurt pouts. “When I’m in the hospital?”

“If I have to.” Blaine glances over his shoulder and sees that thankfully, Santana has drawn the curtains of the cubicle around them. He cups Kurt’s face gently, brushing his thumb over the bruise on his cheek, and kisses him.

When he pulls away, Kurt says, “I’m gonna call HR on _you_.”

Blaine snorts. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Kurt smiles, “Next time I tackle an international art smuggler I’ll use them as a mattress too.”

“Now that’s more like it,” Blaine eases himself onto the bed and leans against Kurt’s side.

He’s safe, and that’s all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this entire au is set in a universe where governments aren't corrupt and don't use their intelligence agencies to subvert other nations politics.


	24. yoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the gang play d&d

So far the session has been going well - they’ve decimated a small group of goblins, Tina successfully charmed information out of an unsuspecting hermit, and Kurt made an alarmingly bad athletics roll and sprained his wrist trying to jump into the cart as it was moving. Now Blaine is describing their cart rolling along through picturesque hills dotted with their ragtag party in the back, splitting their spoils from the goblin party.

“Anyone want this dagger?” Sam says, holding the slip of paper Blaine gave him, “It’s plus two.”

“You don’t want it?” Tina reaches a hand out, and Sam shrugs. “I’m a monk.”

“Monks can use daggers,” Blaine says helpfully. Sam shakes his head. “I’m a _monk_.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Kurt informs him, adding the gold they salvaged to his inventory, “Can I use that travel time to take a short rest please?”

“Sure.” Blaine glances around the table, cluttered with rulebooks, dice trays and paper plates, “Can everyone please make a perception check?”

“Oh man,” Mercedes says, reaching for her dice, “Which thingy is that again?”

“D20,” Mike says, pointing out the right dice from her left side. There’s a moment of silence where everyone rolls.

“Ha! Nat eighteen,” Sam pumps his fist. Blaine nods. “Noted. Kurt?”

“Three,” Kurt says, “I’m focused on my fucking sprained wrist.”

Blaine’s lip twitches a little in amusement, but his DM face mostly stays put. “Tina? Mercedes? Mike?”

The other three chime in with their rolls, and Blaine nods, shuffling behind his DM screen. “Okay, cool. So, Sam and Mike, as you ride, you hear this faint sound. Initially you mistake it for the sound of your horses walking, or your cart creaking, but as you listen you realise that it’s getting louder. Not just louder, but _closer_.”

“Oh shit,” Kurt says, picking up his pencil. Last time Blaine started talking like this, they got accosted by gnolls and Mercedes’ warlock Serin nearly died.

“And as you cast around for the source of the noise,” Blaine continues, “Glancing at the path that continues ahead of you, you realise that it’s coming from behind you. And as you turn, you see two plumes of dust making their way towards you. Pretty fast.”

“Oh _shit_ ,” Sam echoes, then switches to his character voice, which is very Russian. “ _Hey, uh, we have a major problem_.”

“Yeah no kidding,” Mike says. His rogue, Zhi, has a significant bounty on his head after he killed a guy for calling Tina’s tiefling bloodhunter a demon.

Mercedes waves her hand to get Blaine’s attention. “Is there anywhere we can pull off the road and hide? Any bushes?”

Blaine shakes his head. “It’s just hills here. The grass is about knee height, not long enough to hide a cart.”

“Wait, wait,” Tina interjects, “I’m steering the cart, right?”

“Yeah,” Sam confirms, “Kurt sprained his wrist.”

“Alright, well,” Tina shrugs, “I gun it.”

Blaine’s eyes widen in surprise a moment before he gets a smile on his face. “You gun it?”

“Yeah, fuck it,” Tina says confidently, “I’m gonna hit the nitro on these horses.”

“Okay!” Blaine’s trying to hide laughter behind his hand, “Um, make an animal handling check.”

“Alright,” Tina picks up her d20 and shakes it in her hand, “C’mon, c’mon…”

Kurt leans over to see her roll as she lets it fly. It bounces around her dice tray, nearly settles on a fifteen, and then, heartbreakingly, rolls over to a one.

“No!” Tina shrieks, as Sam’s head hits the table and Mercedes puts a hand over her eyes, “Oh my god, Blaine, please don’t kill the horses.”

“If you kill the horses I quit,” Mike says, hand coming down on the table. Blaine, sat behind his DM screen, grins with a slight glint in his eyes. “So. As you shake the reins, attempting to spur your horses into a gallop, you lose your grip on one of the reins and it slaps across the hindquarters of the horse on the left - what did you guys call it?”

“Rachel,” Kurt says, as Mercedes chimes in with, “Mr. Schue.”

“I’ll call it horse one,” Blaine says diplomatically, “Horse one bucks and shies sideways, which startles horse…”

“Rachel,” Kurt and Mercedes say simultaneously.

“Which startles horse two,” Blaine replies, the ridiculously kindhearted man that he is, “And as they both jump away from the cart, you hear a sharp crunching noise, and all of a sudden the cart pitches forwards at a sharp angle and completely comes to a stop.”

“ _Tina!_ ” Sam yells, “What have you done?”

“Oh my god,” Tina covers her face in shame, “I’m so sorry guys.”

Kurt flings a chip at her. “You’re going to get us all killed!”

“Did you break the cart?” Mike asks, one hand on her back, “Blaine, is the cart broken?”

“Make an investigation check,” Blaine says, still grinning.

“Oh fuck,” Mike reaches for his d20, “Okay, I, uh, I hop out of the cart and walk around to the front to check.”

“Alright,” Blaine rubs his hands together, “What’s your roll?”

“Seventeen,” Mike’s peering through his fingers, “What do I find?”

Blaine’s grin is now reminiscent of Santana’s when she’s just gotten a great piece of gossip. “As the horses pulled against each other, you can now see that the yoke of the cart, where they’re harnessed, has splintered about a third along and is now at a forty-five degree angle to the rest of the wood.”

“We’re fucked” Kurt mutters, reaching for his dice in preparation. “Blaine, how close are the dust clouds?”

“They’re about a minute away,” Blaine says, “What would you like to do?”

“Does anyone know mending?” Mike yells, “ _Anyone?_ ”

“Wait, let me check my spells,” Tina says, and Kurt also starts shuffling through paper in the hopes that his wizard decided to learn mending. He’s pretty sure he skipped over it to be able to make fire, but maybe not.

“The dust clouds are getting closer,” Blaine says, looming over all of them as they frantically search through character sheets and spell cards.

“I have it!” Tina yells, “I have mending!”

“Cast it!” Kurt yells back, and she flings the spell card at Blaine. “I cast it!”

Blaine catches the card before it falls onto the floor. “You cast mending on the yoke?”

“Yes!” Tina’s dragging her hands down her face, “I do it and I do it fast so we can leave!”

“Okay,” Blaine nods, “You cast mending on the yoke.”

There’s a moment of deadly silence as all five of them sit there, staring at him.

“It’s fixed.”

“ _Oh thank god._ ” Mike groans, slumping forwards onto the table.

“At this point, the plumes of dust have gotten close enough that you can see they are two riders.” Blaine has a smug expression on his face. “They appear to be wearing common clothes, and they slow a little as they approach you, but they don’t stop.”

“They don’t stop?” Sam repeats.

“They don’t stop,” Blaine confirms, “They continue around you and on down the path.”

Kurt stares, open mouthed, at his fiancé. “Are you serious?”

“I never said they were dangerous!” Blaine shrugs, “I just said they were moving fast!”

“I am -” Kurt brandishes his pencil at Blaine, “You are sleeping on the couch tonight!”

Blaine’s smug smile disappears. “What? Kurt!”

“Bro, if we were dating I would have broken up with you for that,” Sam shakes his head solemnly, “I thought we were about to get TPK’d.”

“By two riders?” Blaine glances back and forth between the five faces looking back at him, “Are you guys serious?”

“Last time it was gnolls,” Mercedes says.

“The time before that it was goblins,” Mike ticks off his fingers, “Before that it was bandits. Before that it was a bear.”

“I don’t -”

“You made us fight buffalo,” Kurt reminds him, “Every time we’re on an isolated dirt road my heart rate spikes.”

“My fitbit just told me great job for doing exercise,” Sam sticks his wrist in Blaine’s face, “You’re driving me to an early grave, dude.”

“Okay, okay,” Blaine lifts his hands in acknowledgment of defeat, “You guys win. The two riders turn around and now they’re a dragon.”

“ _Blaine -”_

“I’m kidding!” Blaine ducks an eraser flung at him by Tina, “I’m kidding!”

Kurt groans, leaning back in his chair, “I regret ever saying I’d play this game with you.”

“Consider it a bonding experience,” Blaine says, “Shall we continue?”

An hour later, with a griffin head strapped to their cart, Blaine ends the session and informs them that they’ve all levelled up. As everyone gets up to stretch their legs, the long-suffering DM circuits the table and leans over Kurt’s chair.

“Am I really on the couch tonight?” he asks, batting his eyes. Kurt looks up at him, manages to keep his stony expression for at least five seconds before he relents. “Oh my god. No, you’re not on the couch.”

“Good,” Blaine puts his arms around Kurt’s shoulders, “It’s not big enough for me and Sam.”

“Maybe I’ll share with Sam then,” Kurt teases, then immediately backtracks at the expression on Blaine’s face. “I’m kidding! Oh my god, Blaine, I’m joking.”

“Not funny,” Blaine smacks him lightly on the shoulder and Kurt laughs. “Remember that next time you decide to scare the party with a rider hit and run!”

Blaine rolls his eyes, and blows him a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had no fucking clue what to write for this prompt so i just wrote what i know, which is dungeons and dragons. apologies. also, new chapter of sunshine should be up soon! fingers crossed!!


End file.
